


Just Beneath the Surface

by SmoakingGreenArrow



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: Blood and Violence, F/M, Halloween season, Serial Killers, Suspense, Thriller, horror fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-09
Updated: 2019-02-12
Packaged: 2019-07-28 09:39:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 44,234
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16239002
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SmoakingGreenArrow/pseuds/SmoakingGreenArrow
Summary: When an S.O.S signal is sent to the FBI from a woman named Felicity Smoak, Director Oliver Queen knows that she is in grave danger. He can’t help but notice the haunting similarities between what’s happening to her and what happened nine years ago; in thirteen unsolved cold cases that drove ex-agent John Diggle out of the bureau. With a race against the clock, Oliver enlists the help of his old mentor to reopen the investigation, and hopefully save Felicity’s life.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This started through my Arrow Out of Context prompts, so some of you may have read the first chapter already. Chapter 2 will be posted this Wednesday! Please let me know what you think!!

Getting called into work at 3:00am was not his idea of fun. Far from it. 

But with a quick stop at a 24-hour fast food place, he walks into the office, trying to pretend he isn’t as tired as he really is.

If he shows weakness, sluggishness, then that makes it okay for his team to slack. And considering the frantic phone call he’d received from Curtis Holt an hour ago, this is a case that needs their full attention. Their A game.

Oliver pushes through the doors of the conference room, setting the iced coffee he’d ordered for Sara down in front of her. His partner groans with appreciation, but says nothing. He’s perceptive enough to catch the glances from the other agents, but he ignores them, keeping his expression stern. How he and Sara spend their free time is none of their concern.

Taking the seat at the head of the table, Oliver leans towards Curtis, gesturing for him to explain what’s brought them all to work in the dead of night.

His team hovers around the room, all of them looking tired and inattentive. Oliver’s eyes flicker to Curtis, who sits at the conference table with his laptop open, his fingers typing furiously across the keys.

“What do we have?” Oliver asks lowly, knowing that like many cases, until Curtis worked his magic, the rest of the FBI will be useless.

“An SOS was triggered somewhere in the mountains between here and Central City.” Curtis replies, not looking up from his screen. “I tried to narrow it down as soon as it reached us, but I haven’t had any luck. Whoever is doing it...they’re honing in, boosting the connection. All I can do is wait until it’s enough to pinpoint.” Suddenly, a grid of the Holland Forest appears on the screen behind him, and Oliver turns to watch as Curtis showcases the narrowing signal, giving his team a visual.

“Not only that, but whoever triggered this sent it directly to the bureau,” Curtis explains,  “I armed these systems and encrypted the data myself. I can assure you, this is no amateur. Whoever is doing this knows exactly how to work their way around a firewall.”

“So you think it could be a trap?” Sara mumbles, her eyebrows furrowing as she takes a sip of her coffee. “Someone sending this signal out for us to follow, leading us to a landmine?”

Curtis shrugs in response, “it’s possible...although logically, I think if that were the case, the signal would be more precise. It’s like the person doing this is still  _trying_ to zone in.”

“Maybe hackers aren’t as smart as they think they are,” Sara retorts, smirking at Curtis. To his credit, he simply shrugs, not bothering to be baited by the constant teasing he’s been subjected to for the last few months. He is green. The newest member on the squad. But it also doesn’t help that he’s their first and only non-field agent. He works from the office, while the rest of them put on bulletproof vests and load their guns. 

Oliver had quickly learned the value of a teammate like Curtis and gained an appreciation for what he could do. Others on the team, like Sara, were a bit more hesitant to the change. They have a hard time respecting someone who isn’t risking his life for the team like the rest of them.

Still, Oliver was hoping they’d come around. He’d also meant to tell Sara to back off, but they didn’t really discuss work. Or much of anything.

“Curtis,” Oliver says, getting the attention of the chuckling team, “you keep working to get a better location on the SOS. The rest of you, get dressed.”

“You’re kidding,” of course, it’s Rene who starts the complaining. But the others aren’t far behind.

Holding up a hand, Oliver throws hard glances at the loudest whiners, reminding them who is in charge. “We head out for Holland Forest in fifteen.”

Rene points up at the screen, “that’s forty miles of trees, hoss,” He argues. “What the hell are we supposed to do? Start turning up rocks for a Curtis wanna-be? We don’t even know that this isn’t some stupid college kid seeing if he can hack the FBI.”

To be fair, that had happened once. But that was before they brought Curtis in. Since then, Oliver had become quite confident that no one would be able to stumble into their business.

“If Curtis says it wasn’t an accident, then it wasn’t an accident, Ramirez,” Oliver says sternly. “If there is someone out there who needs our help, and we ignore it because you want a few extra hours of beauty sleep...your head will be the first in the guillotine.”

With narrowed eyes, Rene steps towards him, and Oliver can feel the rest of the room freeze. “Are we going off your gut again here, Oliver?” 

He asks as if Oliver Queen’s gut isn’t a valid member of the team. As if the idea is ridiculous. As if his judgment hadn’t gotten them out of dangerous situations on numerous occasions. Oliver doesn’t bother responding, he just narrows his eyes at his agent. He knows better than anyone that engaging Rene into an argument is like fighting with a relentless three year old.

“His instinct saved your life ten times over, you idiot.” It was Sara who broke the silence, cutting through the tension.

Oliver closes his eyes, wishing her temper didn’t rival his own. Because...

Ramirez takes the very obvious shot, wheeling towards Sara as if he expected her to defend Oliver.

He slams his hands down on the table in front of her, smiling, knowing that he’d gotten the reaction he’d been trying to provoke. Even if it wasn’t from Oliver. “Defending your boyfriend, Lance?” Rene sneers, “or is he just a fuck buddy? Are we still supposed to pretend we don’t know, or are you two finally going to air out the dirty laundry? See, I feel like we should know. If Queen is going to take a bullet for you, while he lets me die, that’s information I think should be shared with the group.”

“Don’t be dramatic, Rene,” Sara rolls her eyes, completely unfazed by the fact that the elephant in the room was finally being addressed. Oliver knew that they knew. He’s a detective, after all. “Everyone on this team would rather run into a burning building after a kitten before they saved your ass.”

Oliver has to work very hard not to let his lips curve into a smile as Rene’s face twists with irritation and their teammates laugh. “All right, that’s enough,” Oliver mutters. “I said get dressed, we head out—”

“Hello?” 

The team sobers as a woman’s voice rings out from Curtis’ computer. Oliver darts to his side, not seeing anything different aside from a tiny box in the corner that reads the audio from wherever the woman is, spiking when she coughs. “Hello?”

“What the hell is that?” Oliver snaps.

“The SOS signal...” Curtis’ fingers move unnaturally fast. “I didn’t do it.” He shakes his head in awe. “This is all her.”

“Can anyone hear me?” The voice asks.

Oliver’s eyes are glued to the screen.

He’d been in this life long enough to recognize desperation in someone’s voice. Raw, terrified desperation. And it somehow sounds worse on this mystery woman.

Curtis pulls out his phone, plugging it into his computer and making his skill look like an Olympic sport as he types furiously.

“ _Please_ ,” she chokes.

“Curtis...” Oliver has no idea why his throat is tight. He’s  _seen_ a lot worse. He’s watched life die in a man’s eyes. Held mothers who would never see their sons and daughters again. But somehow this voice...it tears through his chest, cutting into him unexpectedly. He  _has_ to help her.

“I can piggyback the channel,” Curtis answers, “I just have to merge the connection and—” the screen of his phone turns blue, and he picks it up immediately, “hello?”

“Hello?” The woman asks, louder this time. “Oh my god, you can hear me?”

Curtis smiles as Oliver takes the phone. “yes. Yes, we can hear you.”

“Oh my god,” the woman breathes. “You have no idea how good it is to hear your voice. Or someone’s voice. Not you specifically, whoever you are. Are you with the FBI? I’ve been trying to reach the FBI but I’ve had no fracking clue if it’s working or not.”

Looking around the room, Oliver sees that his whole team is attentive now. “Ma’am...” Oliver mumbles, “what’s your name?”

He hears her let out a deep breath. “Felicity Smoak.” Oliver nods even though she can’t see it, silently encouraging her to continue as he stares at the screen, watching the sound waves on Curtis’ computer spike with each noise she makes. “My name is Felicity Smoak. And I’m pretty sure I’ve been buried alive.”

The room becomes eerily quiet, each agent raking their mind for the last time they’d heard  _that_. Oliver’s heart sinks into his stomach. “Felicity...talk to me. What do you see? What do you feel and hear?”

“I can’t see anything,” she answers. “But it smells musty, like dirt. And it’s cold. I’m in some sort of box. I felt around until I found a camera. He’s using a hotspot to connect to it, and I jammed the signal and rerouted it to you. I...I didn’t know where else to send it. I thought you people might be my best bet.”

“No, that’s incredible, Felicity.” Oliver tells her, feeling a spark of pride for the stranger. A woman who refuses to let a terrifying situation paralyze her. A fighter. “Can you hear anything? Cars, water, anything that might help us find you?”

He holds his breath as she hesitates, listening. “No,” she finally sighs. “I can’t hear  _anything_. I have no idea...oh god, how far underground am I? Can you develop claustrophobia at twenty five? Because I’ve never been claustrophobic but I swear this box is getting smaller. Oh my god, oh my  _god!_ ” 

Oliver can hear her breath hitching, hysteria rising. She’d probably been so focused on connecting with them that she didn’t let herself panic before. Smart girl. But now that she’s realizing how hard it will be for them to find her, even with the narrowed down location...

“Felicity,” Oliver leans toward the phone, closing his eyes and ignoring his team. He was hardly ever the one to comfort the people they saved. But obviously he knows how to handle it. How to calm someone down. “Listen to my voice and take deep breaths,” he instructs. “We’re going to find you, okay? You’re going to be just fine.”

“Okay,” Felicity gasps, and he can tell that she is trying to stay calm. “Okay.”

Oliver looks up at Sara, and he can see that she’s thinking the same thing as him. 

There was only one case that had all of these elements. Holland Forest. People being taken without a trace. Buried alive. And what came later was truly the terrifying part...

Oliver shakes his head, forcing himself not to wonder if Felicity Smoak will have the same fate. She  _won’t_. 

It was a case he’d learned about from his mentor. A case that had ruined the career and life of that same man. Nodding once to Sara, Oliver knows that she’ll understand when he says, “call him.” 

As she walks out of the room, Oliver refocuses on the woman, “okay Felicity, my friend Curtis is the best cyber analyst at the bureau. And it seems like you’re quite the genius yourself.” She laughs a little bit at that, making him pause in surprise. “Between the two of you, I know we can get a closer location on you. Can you do that? Can you help Curtis?”

“Ye...yes.”

“Good. Good, Felicity. You’re going to be okay.”

He listens as she inhales and exhales, trying to slow her breathing down. “What’s your name?” She finally asks weakly.

“Oliver.”

“Thank you, Oliver.”

* * *

 After making sure that Felicity is getting enough air, that she’s calming down and thinking straight, he clears the room and leaves the phone with Curtis, giving him some space to work. He can  already hear Felicity troubleshooting suggestions as he walks out of the room, and he can’t help but be impressed.

Fight or flight is real. But the theory neglects the most common reaction to something horrifying. From his experience, most people freeze. Their minds go blank, their muscles brace, and they don’t react at all.

But the woman on the phone was all fight. He could tell, from the moment she woke up in that box, she’d been fighting.

Waiting by the door isn’t necessary, since John Diggle knows his way around headquarters just fine. But Oliver wants to get the initial, inevitably awkward greeting out of the way before they go upstairs and become the spectacle of the department’s gossips.

FBI agents aren’t qualified for honorable discharge. But John received the closest version of it that they could give him. He was an incredible mentor who Oliver would always be grateful for, but Oliver had also learned from his mistakes, as well.

He’d learned to never take a case home with him. Although, bringing Sara home was probably worse in a number of different ways. He’d also learned to never let his personal emotions get wrapped up in a case.

Luckily, that had yet to become an issue.

Looking down at his watch, Oliver becomes more and more inpatient. He wants to get back upstairs to Felicity. To see if she and Curtis have gotten any closer. If his math is right, then Felicity only has about eight hours before...unimaginable horrors. Haunting pain that had destroyed the agent assigned to the case.

He also knows that bringing John into the fold is a risk. But no one knows the killer better than him. No one else has dedicated their career, and their life, to finding the man responsible for thirteen women dying in the Holland Forest.

That had been nine years ago. Nine years without a body. Nine years without any trace of the killer’s MO...until Felicity Smoak’s voice crackled through their communications.

Finally, the front door swings open, and Oliver jogs over to the officers that try to stop Diggle from blowing past them. “He’s back?” John demands as soon as he sees Oliver, his eyes wild.

Holding up his hands, Oliver answers, “we think so...”

“The woman is alive?” 

He nods, realizing that he isn’t sure how much Sara had shared. Not that there’s much  _to_ share. 

But there’s no way this guy is barreling upstairs and scaring the shit out of Felicity Smoak with his intense obsession. “She doesn’t know what she’s in the middle of,” Oliver explains, “I haven’t told her anything about the cold cases. We’re hoping to find her before he comes back.” Oliver swallows, “before she finds out for herself what happens next.”

Realization colors John’s face. And he lets out a deep breath, knowing that making an already terrified girl panic when she’s trapped in a box won’t help anyone. Diggle scrapes a hand over his face, “how long has she been down there?”

“We’re guessing about three hours.”

“So she has eight more,” he knows immediately. “Do you have a team out there looking?”

“Yes,” Oliver nods sharply. “They’re searching around every site where the other bodies were found. They’ve been instructed to look for loose dirt, footprints, and any kind of ventilation mechanism. We’re tracking down her family, working on getting something of hers for the dogs to sniff out.”

Diggle nods, “good. Let’s catch this son of a bitch.”

It’s the resolve in his eyes that makes Oliver certain that calling him in was the right move. Not only did no one know the case better, but no one would work harder to save this woman’s life than John Diggle.

"I’m glad to have your help on this,” Oliver offers his hand. “John,”

“My friends call me Dig,” he replies lowly, his eyes narrowing at Oliver. “You can call me nothing.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy spooky month! I hope this fic is giving you all the Halloween creeps. ;) Let me know what you think!!

“Ready?” Oliver asks, gesturing for John to take the floor and address his team. Most of them are out looking for Felicity and will need to be debriefed later, but for the rest of the bureau, John stands tall. He nods once, jumping into his profile.

“We’re looking for a white male in his fifties. He lives close enough to Holland Forest that he can get in and out comfortably and without raising suspicion. We also believe that he must have grown up in the area, as it seems to be a place he’s familiar with. He’ll be socially anxious, and will most likely avoid eye contact and conversation. But he’s active, fit enough to have dragged Felicity Smoak out into the woods, even a decade after his last spree. The killer is middle class, holding a job that earns a living, but nothing too recognizable,” John pauses, making sure his audience is still listening.

“Nine years ago, I believe I got close to catching this man, resulting in his break from killing. We’ll be following those leads, but please keep your focus on securing Ms. Smoak’s safety as our top priority. If a lead doesn’t fit the profile, move on, we can circle back when we have more time. Finding this guy might be our best chance of saving this woman’s life.”

When he finishes, the room of agents stare for a long moment. And then the hands begin to go up. Oliver purses his lips as Diggle straightens his shoulders, preparing to field questions like the pro he’d always been. He starts by lifting his chin towards Rene, calling on him. “Didn’t the Dollmaker send you notes when you were lead on the case? What if we used that connection to draw him out?”

John’s eyes narrow, “first of all, federal agents don’t play along with names that serial killers give themselves, agent Ramirez,” he speaks sternly, his voice full of authority that has Rene slumping into his chair in embarrassment. 

Oliver can’t help but frown, wondering how he’d lost that respect from his team. Rene was always one to talk back, but apparently not to John Diggle. Well, in reality, Oliver knows how that happened. The answer is simple. Sleeping with one of his agents definitely tarnished some of his superiority. 

“Second of all,” Dig continues, “a woman’s life is at stake. Under different circumstances, that plan might be worth it. But we can’t take that risk today. Learning of my involvement in Ms. Smoak’s disappearance might tip him off that we know he did it, which could spook him. And if he gets scared...he could kill his hostage sooner than he originally planned.”

An uncomfortable knot settles in Oliver’s stomach. They’re already running out of time. His team is working their asses off to gather evidence, tear open old case files, and search for Felicity. Curtis is doing his best to get them closer, with the aide of Felicity herself. But he knows that if they don’t find her soon...

His phone begins to vibrate in his pocket, and Oliver gives one more look to John, satisfied that he’s handling the session just fine. He steps out of the room, answering the call with a clipped “what do we have?”

“Nothing.” Roy Harper dejects. “We’ve searched all thirteen grave sites. She’s not here. He put her somewhere new.” 

Oliver sighs, closing himself into another room. They’d expected as much. He glances up at the board in front of him, a map of the forest shining through the tech screen with little red dots to indicate the thirteen graves from nine years ago. 

Roy grunts, out of breath and exhausted. For as much of a pain in the ass his agents could be, Oliver can’t deny that they’re hard workers. They don’t quit. “Is Curtis any closer?”

“No,” Oliver shakes his head, his eyes glancing at the clock now. They only have four more hours to find Felicity Smoak. 

“We’ve been screaming our lungs out since we stepped foot in this forest. The girl hasn’t said she can hear us?”

Sighing again, Oliver closes his eyes and presses his fingers into his forehead. “No.” 

“Oliver... I don’t even want to think about what happens in four hours.”

He nods gravely even though Roy can’t see, his heart clenching in his chest as he looks up at the gruesome pictures on the walls. Thirteen women. Bodies stiff. Eyes forced open. Dressed, made up, and laid out with their hands folded over their chests, like a present for whoever was too late to find them. 

 _Like dolls_.

He hasn’t had much time to speak to Felicity Smoak, but her photos are all over the conference room; piles of her life stacked around the table ready to investigate. But finding her is the first priority. Then they’ll worry about  _how_ she’d been taken. And why.

“Keep looking,” he instructs Roy, “Curtis and Felicity are still working on narrowing her location. I’ll let you know if we find anything.”

“Back at you,” his agent huffs, getting ready continue the search. 

He knows he needs to check in with Felicity. And with John Diggle. And her family will be arriving shortly. But Oliver stands, shoving his hands into his pockets and stepping up to the board of previous victims.

Diverting his eyes away from the haunting photos, he focuses on the biographies instead, comparing each of them to what he knows about Felicity Smoak. Aside from a few minor coincidental things, he can’t see any connection between any of the women. 

Hair, eye, and skin color doesn’t seem to play a role in how the killer chooses his victims. There’s nothing relating to age, marital status, or where they lived that gives him any ideas about how this killer works. 

He’d only been a rookie when the case was first presented to him. Barely in the bureau six months before the bodies started showing up in the forest. And he hadn’t looked at the evidence since. Tried very hard not to think about it, actually. But he’d been hoping his older, more seasoned eye might see something different. Lead them in the right direction to help Felicity. He was wrong.

“I couldn’t figure it out either.”

Oliver turns to look at John as he enters the room. His old mentor gestures to the board, reading his mind. “I could never figure out why he picked them,” Diggle shakes his head, setting his hands on his hips as he stops beside Oliver. “After thirteen bodies...and those taunting notes...it was like he was leaving them for  _me_. And I stopped caring about why. I just wanted to know how to stop that son of a bitch.”

“I want a list of all your old suspects,” he gives John a pointed look, “official and unofficial.” Oliver knows full well that John didn’t just quit after he was fired. That he must have continued even though the FBI had deemed the case cold.

Gesturing to the table, John pulls out an envelope, one from his personal records. “Just before I was fired, I planned on searching the old doll mill. The one they turned into a hotel for history obsessed enthusiasts? I had a hunch that that place had something to do with these deaths.” John sighed, flipping through to a picture of the hotel. Burnt to the ground. “Happened the day after I set up a meeting with the owner.”

Raising his eyebrows, Oliver looks at John, “you thought the killer might have been staying at the hotel?”

“That’s the lead I intended to follow. I asked him to provide me a list of residents. But all the records were conveniently destroyed in the fire. The owner said he had no idea how the fire started. And the killer’s last victim, Susan Williams...she was found just a few hours later.”

“You were closing in,” Oliver’s eyebrows furrow, glancing up at the crime scene photo of the last victim. “He knew you had him. That’s why she was the last.” The killer didn’t bother to dress her up and put her in a box like the others, but the cause of death was still the same. “Her presentation wasn’t as neat as the other. She still had dirt under her fingernails, blood in her hair. He didn’t take his time. That makes sense, but...” his mind wanders to Felicity, as it has been all morning. “But why start again now?” He mumbles to himself, still staring at the board.

“Maybe he couldn’t resist,” Diggle offers, making Oliver’s back stiffen. “He’s a psychopath, there’s not much logical reason behind his actions...but maybe there was something about Felicity Smoak that inspired him.” John is thinking like a detective; trying to get in the mind of the serial killer. It still makes Oliver feel tense. There’s nothing logical about the anger he feels, either. Thinking about this twisted man getting his hands on Felicity makes him feel murderous.

“He drowns them in polymer,” Oliver grumbles back, wanting to focus on something else. “That’s not a common thing to buy. There’s got to be some kind of local purchase we can trace.”

John nods back, “we’ll have to worry about that once we have Curtis’ full attention. Whoever our killer is, he has no idea that Felicity’s sending out a signal. If he catches wind of us, he might speed up the process and disappear like he did after he killed Susan Williams. Right now Curtis needs to focus on finding out where he buried Felicity.”

“Agreed,” Oliver clears his throat, looking away from his old mentor. He doesn’t want to let on how much this case is affecting him... but John Diggle is a perceptive man. And Oliver can’t deny the anxious feeling in his chest; he needs to find Felicity before it’s too late. It’s a whole new level of pressure than he’s ever felt before. Different. Slightly uncomfortable. Almost like a personal investment to bring her home, which he knows is irrational. Because he doesn’t know her, never met her, and shouldn’t be  _this_ worked up about it.

Still, he doesn’t miss the way John’s eyes narrow at him, analyzing.

And Oliver is grateful for the flash of hot pink that catches his attention through the windows. The bureau is full of white walls and gray suits, so her dress stands out immediately, and Oliver recognizes the woman standing in the hall from the pictures his team had gathered. 

Taking a deep breath, Oliver gets ready for his least favorite part of any investigation. It’s not just that he isn’t particularly a people person, it’s also that he hates having to be the one to crush their world. Since most of the time if the FBI is involved, he’s not offering good news. “Excuse me,” he mumbles to Diggle, pushing through the doors. 

“Donna Smoak?”

The woman turns away from Sara, who raises her eyebrows at Oliver. The woman glares at him, hooking her hands on her hips. “Are you agent Queen?”

“I am,” he offers his hand. She shakes it firmly. 

“Your robot here was just telling me that I have to wait for  _you_ to explain what the hell has happened to my daughter.”

“Please, let’s have a seat,” he gestures to an empty conference room. 

Donna pushes her shoulders back, her face flashing with rage. “I don’t want to have a seat.” She snaps. “ _Excuse_ me, but I just spent an  _hour_ in the back of a police cruiser tearing my manicure off because I got a call from the FBI telling me to get in the car and come here, that Felicity is in danger. I  _just_ want to know where my daughter is,” her voice cracks.

Oliver puts his hands on Donna’s shoulders to ground her, meeting her gaze evenly. “I’m working on that. Please, come sit, and we can talk about it.”

“Is she dead?” Donna chokes, her eyes filling with tears that instantly begin to fall down her cheeks.

He squeezes her arms, shaking his head as he looks her in the eye. “No, Ms. Smoak. Felicity is alive. We’re doing everything we can to find her. But we could use your help.”

Felicity’s mom lifts her jaw, wiping the tears from her eyes as she nods. “What can I do?”

As he looks at her, Oliver is reminded of the same resilience he’d detected in Felicity; when he’d first heard her voice come through the speakers. Clearly, strength is something Felicity had learned from her mother.

* * *

 

Donna’s hand is hesitant to let go of the scarf she’d brought, her eyes glued to the material as if it was the last thing of her daughter she has left. Oliver places his hand over hers, knowing that logically, Felicity is still alive and has an apartment full of belongings. But the fear of losing a child is crushing. He’s seen many people break under the weight of it.

“We’ll bring it back,” he promises softly, making the woman’s eyes raise to meet his. “This will help our K9 unit find her.” Clenching her jaw, Donna nods and lets go. As soon as the scarf is in his hand, Oliver grips it tightly. He turns back to hand it off to Sara, who nods and takes it out of the room. He watches after her, satisfied that Sara can head out for Holland Forest. Now that Donna is safely under their protection and they have something for the dogs to get a scent from, Sara can join the search.

With any luck, it’ll lead them right to Felicity Smoak.

He knows that his place is at the bureau. Now that he’s the director, he needs to be the leader. The middle man for all of his agents to answer to. But he’s never wanted to be out in the field more. 

Oliver glances down at the photograph in Donna Smoak’s lap, the one her thumb keeps absently tracing. He gestures towards it, “may I?”

Donna hesitates, but then she nods, blinking back tears as she hands him the picture. “When the officer called and asked for something Felicity wears often, I wasn’t sure if you might need a picture of her, too. That’s the most recent one I have.”

Oliver glances it over, his eyes instinctively focusing on Felicity. She’s lying on a couch with an adorable dog wrapped up in her arms. Felicity’s eyes are closed, smiling as she nestles her nose into the dog’s fir. Her hair is up in a bun, loose and messy on the top of her head. Her face is clear of makeup, and she looks a little silly with sweatpants tucked into her socks and panda slippers on her feet. He can’t help but smile a bit. She looks different from the photos the bureau had pulled of her; more natural than what was online, but just as warm. 

“That’s the first day she got that dog. Brought Ophie home from a shelter and they’ve been inseparable ever since.”

Nodding, Oliver allows himself one more look at the picture before he moves to hand it back, smoothing the smile off his face. But of course Donna notices, giving him a strange look as she takes the picture. Oliver clears his throat, seeing no reason to hide what Donna Smoak is obviously seeing. Besides, he gathers that Felicity is just the kind of person who everyone is fond of. A charmer, even though she doesn’t try to be.  _Especially_ because she doesn’t try to be. “She’s beautiful,” he mumbles honestly. 

“She is,” Donna breathes, a smile pulling at her lips and tears springing to her eyes.

He bites his lip, weighing whether or not to tell Donna that they have contact with Felicity. It seems cruel, knowing that Felicity’s voice is just a few doors down, and keeping that from the distraught mother in front of him. Part of Oliver wants to give Donna some peace of mind, but the agent in him knows better. It will only stress Felicity out. And the team. They certainly don’t have time to waste.

Allowing Donna to speak with Felicity might be the humane thing to do, but it isn’t the smartest. Not if they want to find her before the killer comes back to finish what he’d started.

Yet Oliver feels like he needs to give her  _something_. “From what we’ve learned, your daughter is a brilliant woman,” he says slowly, “if anyone can make it out of this, I trust that she can. You’ve raised a fighter, Ms. Smoak.”

Sniffling, Donna glances away from him, wiping her eyes. Then, she surprises him by reaching over and taking both of his hands in hers. “Thank you,” she answers with a gentle, genuine smile. He swallows, hating the thought that pushes into his brain. 

He’s only seen Felicity in photos, but it’s clear where she got her eyes. And he has no doubt that he isn’t the first to be put under a spell by the Smoak women. Their power is unmistakable, but there’s also an innate kindness in both of them that compels him to want to  _protect_.

Taking a deep breath, Oliver is aware that this is usually the part of the touchy-feely moment where he’d gently pull away. But Donna’s fingers gripping into his hands keep him still. Actually, he squeezes back before asking his next question.

“Ms. Smoak, do you know of anyone who may have wanted to hurt your daughter? Anyone she’s mentioned that made her uncomfortable? That stood out to her?”

Donna pulls her lips to the side, taking a moment to really think. “She had a stalker in college,” she looks back up at him. “A lacrosse player named Adrian Chase. He’d sit outside her apartment for hours, leave her little notes and presents on her doorstep. I remember it really creeped her out...but I don’t think she’s seen him since Boston. That was nearly four years ago.” Donna’s face drops, “you think he could have followed her here?”

Oliver shakes his head, not wanting to give the gruesome details...but young, arrogant stalker doesn’t fit the profile of a decade-long serial killer. “I don’t think so, but we’ll look into it.” He shifts in his seat, thrown off by the flash of anger he feels. Serial killer or not, he wishes he’d known Felicity’s stalker in college. Because he’s certain there wouldn’t have been a chance in hell the guy would’ve gotten away with that shit. “Is there anyone else? Anyone recent in her life she’s talked about? Even just someone who seemed odd to her?”

“Not that I can think of,” Donna lifts her shoulders after a moment of thinking again.

He smiles reassuringly, squeezing her hands. “That’s okay. You let us know if anyone comes to mind, okay?”

Donna nods, her eyebrows furrowing as she combs through her brain again. A knock on the door catches Oliver’s attention. He lets go of Donna’s hands, his heart clenching a bit when he sees Curtis Holt. Or rather, when he sees the look on Curtis Holt’s face.

It’s clear that the agent is trying not to react strongly, hiding whatever the problem is from Felicity’s mother. But Oliver can see the panic in his eyes, and he stands up immediately. “Excuse me, Ms. Smoak. I’ll be right back.” Luckily she’s distracted, humming in response while she looks at the picture, deep in thought.

He closes the door and gestures Curtis to follow, puling him out of Donna’s view before he dares to ask. “What do you have?”

Curtis looks like he’s holding his breath, fear all over his face. “You’re going to want to hear this,” without any other explanation, Curtis grabs his arm and starts to pull.

Under different circumstances, he may have dislocated a shoulder if an agent did this, but Curtis is dragging him into the room where this had all started. The conference room he’d been locked in for the last four hours. The place where Felicity is communicating. Oliver follows immediately, pushing through the doors.

Curtis rushes to the computers, slamming his hand on the volume of his laptop to crank it up as high as it will go. There are two other agents in the room, and they’re both silent and stoic.

The only sound is Felicity’s shallow breath coming in through the speakers. “Felicity...” he breathes, focusing on her instead of asking his agents what the hell is going on.

“Oliver?” Felicity pants back, surprising him for a moment that she’d recognize his voice already. He’s worried that she’s having another panic attack until her voice drops, “do you hear that?” Felicity whimpers slightly.

Oliver freezes with the rest of the room...listening.

He slowly steps towards the phone, stopping in front of it and leaning down, putting his ear closer to the devices on the table.

A moment later, the faint sound reaches his ears. Someone whistling.

It’s not anything recognizable, but the tune is hauntingly chipper. And Oliver knows it isn’t Felicity making the noise. Her breath is still heavy, hitching in her throat. In fear.

For the first time in his career, Oliver’s mind goes blank. 

And then the sound metal hitting dirt has Felicity gasping, and the hair on the back of his neck rising. He holds his breath.

When Felicity speaks again, her voice is barely audible. “He’s here.”


	3. Chapter 3

“Go,” Oliver’s eyes turn wicked when they land on the frozen agents. They all listen as the whistling grows louder over the comms, as the Dollmaker digs Felicity out of the ground. “Get every available agent and officer and get over to those woods. I want everyone out there. Tell them to  _find her,”_ he growls.

Both of the agents nod, standing quickly and running out of the room. Before the door closes behind them, Oliver leans down to the mic, ignoring Curtis as he frantically tries to hone in on the location. “Felicity,” he says seriously, “my agents are close. As soon as you see light, I need you to fight like hell. And then I need you to run. Can you do that?”

She whimpers in response, terrified, and Oliver squeezes his eyes shut. 

“You can do this,” he tells her honestly. Because he meant what he’d said to her mother. She can survive this. He believes it. After everything he’d learned about Felicity and the strength in her that he’d witnessed firsthand, he knows that she can do this.

Felicity doesn’t answer, and Oliver has never felt more helpless than the moment he hears the shovel stop scraping through the dirt. When the line goes silent again, the whistling halting; even the sound of Felicity’s breath is absent as she holds it. 

And then comes an unfamiliar man’s voice, high pitched and slow. “Hello there, darling.”

Felicity’s voice comes next, groaning as she struggles with her assailant. She yelps in pain, but Oliver doesn’t miss it when the man attacking her also grunts, calling her a ‘stupid bitch’ before their footsteps disappear, leaves crunching on the ground while they move out of range from the audio. It’s the last thing he’s given, and Oliver can’t even begin to fathom how or why it’s _so_ unsettling. But it shakes him to the core.

Curtis raises his hands above his head, tearing his eyes off the screen to look at Oliver. “It sounded like she got away, didn’t it? I mean, she got away, right?”

Oliver slams his fist on the table, because he truly has no idea. And he’s pissed at himself for not being out there when this happened. “Get whatever you need, we’re going.”

“To the Holland Forest?”

Picking up whatever devices are in front of him, Oliver grunts in response, moving to the door. Curtis gathers the rest of his equipment and hurries after him.

He doesn’t stop until he’s in the parking lot, shoving Curtis’ stuff into the passenger seat and rounding the car, climbing behind the wheel. Oliver starts it and peels out of the parking lot before Curtis is even completely in the car. “Get me the closest location you can,” he demands.

Curtis sighs, opening his computer while Oliver flips his lights and sirens on. People on the road tend to clear the way for his tinted black SUV more than they do for squad cars, knowing he must be government. “I don’t know if I can do any better now than I could–” Curtis cuts himself off with a huff, adrenaline coursing as Oliver’s speed ticks up, “maybe the signal is better now that he dug her out, now that the camera’s not buried underground, but I don’t really know.”

Gritting his teeth, Oliver flies through the streets, pushing one hundred as he races for the outskirts of town. He’s focused on getting them there in one piece, and he doesn’t even care when Curtis swallows back bile, closing his eyes and trying not to be sick. “Curtis,” Oliver snaps, “puke on your shoes if you have to and then get me a location. There are dozens of entrances in and out of that forest. I need the closest one–”

“Oh my god,” Curtis interrupts. He lets out a breath, shaking his head. But then he smiles. "The signal is bouncing all over the place."

Oliver glances at him incredulously, only allowing a couple of seconds before he refocuses on the road. “What? That doesn't sound good, Curtis. What do you mean?”

“It means...Felicity took the camera with her when she ran.” Curtis shakes his head again, still smiling as his fingers move faster over the keys. “She literally ran for her life and thought to grab the thing that would help us track her. I swear, Mr. Queen, we should recruit this woman. I mean, _if_ we save her. She’ll definitely need to be alive to be recruited. And probably some therapy after this, because holy shit, trapped in a grave and all that. But really, she’s brilliant. There’s no denying that. Right? I can’t be the only one who’s insanely impressed by how smart this girl is–”

“Curtis!”

With a low chuckle, Curtis flips his computer around, offering Oliver a view of the screen. “It’s still faulty because of how secluded those woods are, but I have her within a few miles of Exit 38. You were right, he didn’t keep her very far from the roads.”

Whipping through five lanes, Oliver takes the exit, speeding down the street until he gets closer to the forest. There isn’t a marked entrance on this side of the massive forest, the easier trails are miles away. Of course he buried her away from the populated areas. They’d banked on that. Yet nothing they’d done to save her had helped.

They're still too late; racing against the clock to get Felicity out of there alive. To find her before the Dollmaker can act on his sick plan. It's the furthest thing from the way he'd been hoping this would end. Cutting it way too close for comfort.

“Stop there!” Curtis yells. At first Oliver thinks it’s because he has a more accurate location on Felicity, but Curtis points to a black truck parked on the side of the road, pulled off and hidden in the weeds.

“Call for back-up,” Oliver mutters, slamming to a stop and jumping out. He pulls his gun out first, rushing to the truck with his eyes scanning his surroundings. Nothing he sees or hears jumps out at him, so he keeps moving.

Curtis steps out, his phone pressed to his ear as he informs the team. Then he follows in Oliver’s direction, looking down at his screen. Oliver examines the truck, which is clean, aside from a bag in the backseat with soap, rags, and some kind of tubes. “Damn it,” Oliver seethes as his hand touches a black bottle with a white label. He reads it, holding the polymer up for Curtis to see. “This is our guy’s truck.”

Curtis glances into the bed of the truck, reaching in and pulling out a box. When he opens it, he reveals a pink dress, sunhat, and ballet flats. Curtis shivers, shoving the costume away. “That’s for sure. He has full, creepy, ‘Dollmaker-returns’ intentions, doesn’t he?”

Oliver’s shoulders stiffen, turning to scan the woods again, listening, because finding the truck certainly doesn’t mean that Felicity Smoak is safe. “Run the plates,” he instructs Curtis. He can hear the sirens of backup in the distance, and in a couple of minutes, the street will be flooded with cruisers and lights. “Keep your gun on you and wait for the team.”

Nodding once, Curtis points South, “She's moving in that direction, not too far from here.” He sighs, “that’s all I know.”

Raising his gun, Oliver starts to inch into the dark forest. “Good enough.”

There’s not a chance in hell he’s letting the Dollmaker get out of there, with or without Felicity.

Oliver moves with practiced ease, his feet barely making any sound as he creeps deeper into the woods, the trees thickening and making the grayness of a rainy day become even darker, clouded by treetops to the point where he might be convinced it's nearly nightfall if he didn't know better. It’s also eerily quiet, especially since he knows the sirens should be louder, but they’re barely audible and he’s only about a mile in.

He finds motivation in the fact that Felicity knows the FBI is out here. He told her they'd be looking. All she has to do is get away from the creep who kidnapped her, and surely she’ll run into an officer sooner rather than later. Most of the FBI is out here. But what if she doesn’t?

Oliver doesn’t agree with the sinking feeling that question brings to his stomach. He’s always been the kind of agent who prepares for every scenario. Even when that could mean failure; finding someone dead rather than alive. He’d learned the hard way that he can't save everyone. And for the life of him, he doesn't understand why he refuses to acknowledge that for Felicity Smoak.

He won't even entertain the possibility of this ending with a body turning up rather than returning a daughter to her mother. He _won't_.

With his gun raised, Oliver keeps his eyes and ears alert, despite the thoughts about Felicity in his head.

A low whistling makes him stop in his tracks. At first the slow pitch almost passes for a bird, but he’s focused enough to realize that the sound is human.

Stepping behind a tree, Oliver cocks his gun, his eyes trained on the darkest parts of the forest, making sure he has a view of every possible angle. The whistle sounds again, bouncing off the trees, louder and higher this time. His grip on the gun tightens as he realizes that it's the same whistle he'd heard through the comms. The killer is playing with Felicity. She must have gotten away and now he's trying to scare her into revealing herself. An attempt to disorient her.

That’s when it hits Oliver that if the Dollmaker is this close...

He doesn’t bother hiding, instead he steps into the open, taking the chance that if the serial killer can see him, then Felicity Smoak might, too. His eyes dart around the forest, looking for any indication; footprints, a head of blonde hair, the blue dress she’d been wearing when she disappeared. 

He can tell that the Dollmaker is somewhere behind him, but the distance is unclear. The trees echo in a confusing way, making it hard to tell exactly where the sound is originating from. But Oliver tries to move away from the whistling, assuming that Felicity would do the same.

About half a mile farther into the forest, Oliver stops, trying to decide which way he should go; which way she would have gone. He knows his team must be close by, alerted by Curtis' call.

Climbing up to the top of a small hill, Oliver takes a look around. He can only imagine how confusing and frightening the forest is for Felicity, even if she hadn’t just been buried alive and almost killed. The landscape is dark, everything is wet with rain, and it all looks the same. But he also trusts that she has her senses. That she would stay quiet, find somewhere safe...

His eyes narrow towards the bottom of the hill, where he can just make out a black high heeled shoe, hardly noticeable in the dark, wet leaves.

Oliver moves down the hill, practically sliding until he reaches the shoe. Bending down to pick it up, he takes another look around, keeping his eyes open for anywhere Felicity could have chosen to hide. 

A twig snapping behind him has Oliver whipping around, shoe in one hand, gun in the other.

His eyes instantly land on Felicity Smoak, recognizing her despite the dirt on her dress and skin, her wet hair, and her lack of glasses. She yelps at Oliver’s sudden movement, his gun trained on her for a split second before he can register who she is. And then he lowers it, taking a step towards her. "Felicity," he breathes her name.

Felicity’s eyes drop to his chest, noting the large white “FBI” letters on his vest, and then her wide eyed, terrified expression crumbles. Her knees almost give out as she drops the camera on the ground, tears instantly streaming down her face. Oliver holds up his hands, not wanting to scare her any more than she already has been. “Felicity, are you okay? Are you hurt?”

Her mouth drops open as her eyes dart up to meet his gaze. And in the next moment, she’s rushing towards him. Oliver stands stunned while Felicity throws her arms around his neck, hugging herself so tightly against him. “Oliver,” she breathes, surprising him again before he remembers how much of his voice she’s been listening to for the last few hours. 

Keeping one arm around her waist, Oliver scans the forest again, listening intently with his gun at his side. Felicity’s shaking like a leaf, and he instinctively rubs her back, making some kind of soothing noise in her ear. “We’ve got to get out of here, okay?”

“I’ve been trying,” she chokes. “Every time I turn around, it feels like he’s right behind me, that damn whistling following me no matter which way I run.”

Oliver pulls back to look at her, meeting her eyes, and he really feels like an asshole for the automatic part of his brain that notes how beautiful they are. How beautiful  _she_ is. It was hardly the time.

It never would be the time.

Oliver cups the back of her head, keeping her grounded. Calm. “Are you okay?” He asks again slowly, making sure he has her attention. When she nods, Oliver returns it, cradling her head a bit tighter as if to confirm it. Reaching down, he takes her hand and quietly leads her in the direction of the road, his head on a swivel. 

If his team doesn’t have cuffs on the Dollmaker yet, then he could be near. Or worse, watching them. “Stay close,” Oliver says quietly, and he can’t help but be amused when she sidles right up against his back. Her fingers are trembling, and Oliver squeezes them, gripping her hand tightly in his.

Tilting his head to see her, he looks down at Felicity’s face. He can see the bags under her eyes now, the shock wearing off, her skin paler than it had been just a few minutes ago. Her adrenaline is draining. “Okay?”

She swallows, giving her head a single, hard nod as she clenches her jaw. Oliver looks down at her feet, cringing when he notices the blood and dirt. “Here,” he offers his arms, and she looks hesitant, but after a moment decides to let him pick her up. He hooks her legs over his arm, cradling her to his chest and keeping the gun steady in his hand, easily accessible if he needs it. Her face and arms are covered in tiny scratches from the dense greenery, and her feet are even worse from the ground. “Did you fall?” He asks quietly, glancing away from the gash on her jaw, blood in her hair. 

“Yeah,” Felicity cowers a bit, her eyes just as alert and ready as his. 

“We'll get you checked out,” he responds lowly, worrying that she might need a couple of stitches.

He focuses his attention to the trees, not on the way Felicity slumps against his chest. She relaxes, as much as she can, into his arms. Her head lulls to his shoulder and it’s hard not to hold her a little tighter. 

“Oh,” Felicity groans, collapsing even more when the sirens reach their ears, when the lights from the swarm of cruisers can be seen through the trees. She lets out a deep breath, and he can hear the relief in her voice. 

So close, almost safe.

"Almost there, honey," he mumbles, the words just slipping out. Burying her face in his neck, Felicity releases a soft chuckle, exhausted and delirious, no doubt. He isn’t sure why she feels so comfortable, why she trusts him so much, but he'd be lying if he said he doesn't like it. Knowing that Felicity's putting her life in his hands gives him a sense of pride. Important, sobering, and powerful _pride_. Not only does he want to protect her, but he wants her to believe that he can. And she seems to.

“Oliver,” Felicity says his name again, her body tensing as she looks at something over his shoulder. Oliver shifts, shielding her from whatever she’s seeing. But when he follows her line of sight, he sighs in relief. 

Sara’s flanking them, silently and cautiously. “It’s my agent,” he promises Felicity, rubbing his thumb against her back in hopes of getting her to calm down again. “That’s just Sara.” Felicity nods, but keeps her eyes on the dark figure lurking, and he’s sure that she has every reason to be hesitant. Yet he feels better knowing that there are more eyes on them, another gun ready to shoot if the Dollmaker is near. 

“Why does it feel like we’ve been walking for three hours?” Felicity mumbles, glancing back in the direction of the lights. “Are we even any closer? I don’t think we are.”

Oliver laughs breathlessly, shaking his head. “We’re closer,” he whispers back.

Felicity’s eyes alternate between watching Sara and watching the lights get brighter as the fog evaporates. “Thank god,” she whispers. After another minute or two, the road and the agents on it come into view. Oliver quickens his speed a bit, still keeping his eyes alert, but wanting to get her somewhere  _safe_. Finally safe.

When he emerges from the trees, Felicity in his arms, Curtis is the first to notice them. “There he is,” he nudges John, who gets the medics’ attention, grabbing a blanket from them before he jogs over. 

He keeps Felicity close as he moves to the waiting ambulance, acknowledging John when he kindly drapes the blanket over Felicity. But he also notices that he doesn’t see any apparent serial killers being arrested. 

Meeting John’s eyes is all it takes to get an answer on that, and Oliver has to bite his lip to keep from losing his cool. He keeps it together solely for Felicity, but he wishes he was still a hot-headed rookie who could throw a tantrum when the bad guy got away. One who could connect his fist with a wall and get away with it. 

He moves to set Felicity on the edge of the ambulance, preparing himself to speak with his old mentor about how the hell one man got away from fifty federal agents. Felicity latches on though, shaking him out of his irritation. He looks down at her, “it’s okay, they just need to look you over. Patch you up. I’ll be right over there,” he gestures towards Diggle.

As if reminding herself to toughen up, Felicity rolls her shoulders back, mumbling an agreement while she lifts her chin and looks to the medics. She squints at the lights, not used to the brightness after so long in the dark, and he makes sure she’s okay before he heads over to John.

“They’re still out there. Sara had eyes on him, he was watching you and Felicity. But he ran when he noticed Sara. We have most of the team on his trail, but Sara wanted to keep eyes on you two.”

Dragging his hand over his face, Oliver nods. “We saw her. She's probably circling back. How far could he have gone?”

Diggle gives him an indignant glance. “He’s smart. This area has plenty of ways in and out. And he’s faster than us. He knows where he’s going and how to get there. I’m sure he had a number of escape routes already mapped out...while I had to buddy up the team to make sure no one gets lost in there.” Exactly what Oliver had been afraid of.

“Damn it,” he hisses through his teeth. “You’re saying he’s already gone.”

“I’m saying...” John held his hands up, “you're the boss now, Oliver. These are your decisions to make. But I’m saying that in my opinion, our time would be better utilized by finding him another way.”

If he pulls his team out, he could be offering the Dollmaker an easy walk out of here. But if he has them keep looking, he could be wasting everyone’s time and energy. His eyes look back at Felicity, flinching as the medics clean up her feet and wrap her in gauze and bandages. “Fine,” he mutters, “pull them out. Let’s see if we can get a hit off the truck, run it for fingerprints, and find out where and when he bought those supplies. We have enough promising evidence that we might be able to have his name soon.”

John fights a smile, “sounds like a plan, boss.” He offers his hand, and Oliver shakes it, glad that they’d at least mended _some_ old wounds. John Diggle has a lot of pride, and getting fired while his agent got promoted couldn’t have been an easy pill to swallow.

Turning towards Felicity again, Oliver takes a step before John stops him again. “Be careful, all right? She’s tough, but this is a lot for anyone.”

Oliver cocks his head to the side, “she’s safe now. We can keep her safe.”

“I know. Just don’t deceive yourself into thinking that’s  _your_ responsibility.” 

_Don’t get attached._

It might be too late for that.

* * *

There are protocols to follow. With the Dollmaker still on the loose, Felicity and her mother will both be offered protective custody. There will be agents assigned to protect them. Only those selected agents and the director, which means him, will know where the safe house is. 

It’s a process that’s meant to protect victims who are still at risk. And Oliver has always trusted and believed in that process. He’s never had a hard time putting faith in the ability of the FBI. Yet he’s suddenly not comfortable with delegating.

The truth is, he doesn’t want to take his eyes off Felicity. 

It’s foolish and not logical at all and he hates that he feels so invested. But he does. He can’t even tell himself he doesn’t anymore. Not after the way Felicity had clung to him while he carried her to safety, breathing with him, relieved as if she just  _knew_ she was safe as soon as she crashed into his arms. Felicity had melted against him like she didn’t want to let go. And he couldn’t ignore how thoroughly it was screwing with his head.

And even after, when it was time to go back to headquarters and she’d asked if she could go with him, looking a little panicked when he mentioned leaving her to go in the ambulance with the medical team. 

Letting her ride with him and Curtis wasn't a big deal, but he knew that he had important things to handle here, like finding a serial killer. His responsibilities do not include keeping watch outside a safe house.

Even now, his eyes keep shifting to the glass wall between him and Felicity Smoak. She’s sitting beside her mother, looking exhausted and pale, as Ramirez and Diggle try to get as much information from her as they can. He knows how important it is to prod at her, that she might remember more about her kidnapper than she thinks she does. If she saw his face, they can get a sketch artist, and then they can blast the photo all over the news.

“Okay,” Sara approaches, crossing her arms and glancing at Felicity and Donna. “Harper picked up Miss Smoak’s dog like you asked, he’s on his way to the house with it now.” She hesitates, “are you sure you don’t want me going with him?”

Oliver shakes his head. Sara’s usefulness on the team comes in spades. She’s one of his best fighters in multiple disciplines. But she’s also smart as hell, and he wants her head focused on finding the Dollmaker.

“All right,” Sara sighs. She reaches over to rub her hand against his forearm, “we’re debriefing in five.”

“I’ll be there in a minute,” Oliver mumbles back, unable to  _not_ look in Felicity’s direction again.

Felicity’s tense, and since he’s been watching, he knows that she’s been blinking back tears for the last ten minutes. His agents are only doing their jobs, trying to catch a serial killer before he tries again, but Felicity is reaching her breaking point.

Now, if  _that_ doesn’t make him feel some type of protective way...

He steps away from Sara, walking down the hallway until he’s stopped in front of the conference room. Diggle sees him first, and he offers a small nod to indicate that it’s okay. 

Felicity visibly relaxes when she sees him, and he opens the door. “Oliver,” she sighs, her eyes softening, shoulders slumping. She really does do a surprisingly good job of warming his heart without even trying. Which throws him for a loop.

Oliver stares at her for a long moment, noticing the way Donna and John’s eyes both dart between him and Felicity out of the corner of his eye. But then Felicity lets out a deep breath as if the sight of him gives her some kind of comfort, and he can’t think of much else.

“How are you feeling?” He mumbles, easing into the chair across the table from her. She’s a little banged up, but he was relieved when the medic assessed only some minor injuries from her escape. The sedative the Dollmaker used is out of her system and she was given some painkillers. She’s  _okay_.

“Better,” Felicity whispers back. It’s impossible not to notice the small, tired, but completely gorgeous smile she gives him. Or the way her mother sucks in a sharp breath. Oliver’s certain that Felicity hasn’t smiled since all of this began. And it’s an intoxicating, crushing feeling to realize that she does it for  _him_.

“Good,” he offers a smile in return. It’s crazy, and absolutely, extremely, wildly inappropriate...but he can feel sparks flying across the table.

Oliver clears his throat, stiffening because now he’s wondering if anyone else is noticing it, too. “I’m sure you’re ready to get out of here.”

Felicity shifts in her chair, her tongue slipping out to touch the scar on her lip. She winces, giving him a tired shrug in response, and he knows that they need to wrap this up as quickly as they can. “We have a house set up for you. Somewhere secure.” He glances at Donna and nods to her, “both of you. I have some of my best agents ready to stay with you and make sure you’re safe. Your dog is on her way there now.” He doesn’t take his eyes off of Felicity, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t see Rene’s eyebrow tick up.

Pet transfer isn’t exactly in the requisites of protective custody, but Oliver knew that the dog meant the world to Felicity. He was hoping it’d be enough to convince her, because for some bizarre reason, he was totally anticipating her next words. “I think I should stay here,” Felicity says, straightening up. “I can help. Here is safe too, right?”

Oliver shakes his head, “it is...but you need to sleep, eat something. Let your mom help you.”

“I can’t just sit back and relax, Oliver.” Felicity’s face drops, “I need to do something.”

He leans a little closer, tuning out everyone else in the room as he meets her gaze. Hesitantly, Oliver extends his arm, touching his fingers to the back of her hand. It’s experimental, testing his theory that she has some kind of response to him.

Felicity lets out a deep breath, keeping her eyes on him but he can see some tension easing in her eyes.  _Why?_  He may be the leader around here, but he’d been one of many who helped to save her. Yet he can’t shake how she’d fallen into his arms back in the Holland Forest, putting her life and trust in him without question. Was it just because he happened to be the face behind the bulletproof vest, the one who found her?

Speaking gently, Oliver rubs his thumb against her hand, ignoring any reactions from his agent, his ex-mentor, or Felicity’s mom. He doesn’t want to know what they’re thinking, nor does he care. All he wants is to let Felicity know that nothing is going to happen to her. “You’re not an agent, Felicity. I can’t just give you access to FBI databases. Trust me–” Oliver purses his lips, “trust  _us_. We’ll find him. And the sooner we do, the sooner you’ll be able to go home.”

“No one’s even telling me who  _he_ is! All I know is that some psychopath buried me in some creepy forest. What are you not telling me?” Felicity’s fist clenches under his palm. “Do you all think I’m stupid?” She seethes, her patience and calmness snapping.

They pushed too hard. She’s been keeping it together for too long. 

“Do you think I don’t notice the looks on all of your faces? Who  _is_ he? Why are you all so afraid of him?”

The silence that follows her questions has nothing to do with the case or keeping it a secret from her. It has everything to do with the fact that she’s already been through so much, and Oliver doesn’t feel it best to give her the truth in that moment. Telling her what the Dollmaker planned to do would just be  _cruel_.

Looking into her eyes, Oliver sees something unreadable flash behind them. He’s not quite sure what she thinks, but he knows she’s not happy. Felicity pulls her hand away from his. Leaning back and crossing her arms, Felicity’s face clears, not giving him any kind of emotion. So she does have walls, she just hadn’t bothered to put them up before. 

He can see it in her eyes now, like she feels betrayed that he isn’t on her side.

Refusing her help, sending her away, and not telling her what’s going on. Three strikes for him right there.

Seeing her close herself off to him hurts more than he thought it would, and it doesn’t sit right. In fact, it feels pretty wrong.

“Fine,” Felicity mumbles after a few awkward seconds of silence while he watches her. She glances away, turning her attention to John and Rene. “I’m assuming Mr. Queen has plenty on his plate, and one of you will be babysitting my mother and I–”

“Felicity,” Donna finally interrupts, placing a hand on her daughter’s knee. 

Ramirez taps his hand against the table, standing up, “that’ll be me. Are you both ready to go?” He asks. Felicity nods, pushing up to stand and follow Rene, refusing to look in Oliver’s direction. But she stands up too fast, not attentive enough to what her body’s been through, and she wavers. Her mom hooks an arm around her waist to steady her while John and Oliver both jump to their feet.

Shaking her head, Felicity takes a deep breath, looking paler than just a moment ago. She’s  _exhausted_. “I’m fine.”

Watching her round the table and head for the door, Oliver holds his breath. And he doesn’t take his eyes off of her until she’s out of sight. Not a single glance back at him. Oh, he's certain that she's mad as hell. Frustrated without answers. But deciding not to share with her the fact that she could have been drowned in polymer, frozen forever while a sick man dressed her up and displayed her like a doll? He doesn't regret that. What happened to her is already far beyond anyone's coping skills. He isn't going to apologize for choosing not to make it worse.

Diggle claps a hand over Oliver's shoulder, “we’ll debrief, then I’ll handle putting the Dollmaker’s profile together and prepping the team to start the investigation.”

Oliver’s eyes shift to John, ready to argue. It’s  _his_ team, after all. But John just gives him a knowing look. “You should head home. Get a few hours of sleep,” he says, his voice indicating that he knows full well that if Oliver leaves this building, he won't be going home.

Debrief, get the work started, and then he’ll be driving straight to the safe house.


	4. Chapter 4

Showers have always been Felicity's favorite place to cry. She could easily let out some shallow sobs, and by the time she got out, her face would be raw from the hot water and clean like it never happened.

Closing herself into the bathroom at the safe house is the first moment Felicity has been alone since she ran into Oliver Queen’s arms. And she undresses, preparing to let herself break down the moment she gets in. Felicity turns the water as hot as it allows, hoping to scorch off the layer of skin that is dirty, hurt, and full of reminders of the day she’d had.

Yet when she climbs in and closes the door, she stands in the shower, perfectly stoic as she stares at her feet below, letting the water burn against her back, barely noticing the pain. The water that circles her red toenails is blackened from the soot and dirt she’d been buried in, swirling down the drain. 

She wants to cry. She really does. It feels like she’s been standing there for hours, waiting for the water to run clear, but it doesn’t. Holding back the tears is better anyway, because if she lets herself cry, she’s not sure if she could stop.

It wasn’t just about what happened. Of course, the anxious feeling sitting in her chest has a lot to do with being kidnapped, buried alive, and then running for her life. But it also has to do with Oliver Queen. The agents who follow his orders and refused to tell her anything. She knows she can handle it, she  _needs_ to handle it. And it infuriates her that everyone seems to think she’s too weak.

There is obviously something about the man who attacked her that scares the FBI. Which only makes it even more infuriating to not know what the hell would have happened in the Holland Forest. It was unsettling to sit across from three grown men, all federal agents, and to see the fear behind their eyes. The looks on their faces made her hesitate, wondering for a moment if maybe she didn’t want to know.

But that isn’t true. It isn’t that she doesn’t want to know, it’s that she wishes it wasn’t happening at all. In her heart, Felicity needs to know who the man is, what he wants from her, and how to stop him from attacking her, or anyone else, ever again.

Focusing on answering those question seems like a much better use of her brain, better than spiraling into the possibilities of how she could have died out there.

She just has to figure out how to get the information she needs.

* * *

 

Stopping for coffee is necessary.

Oliver barely slept before Curtis called the team into the office last night. Before Felicity’s voice became all of their sole focus. 

It felt like a different lifetime, strolling into headquarters nearly twenty four hours ago, exhausted and wishing he could be back in bed. Everything seems so different, and Oliver isn’t sure if he can ever go back to how it was. 

Realistically, Felicity Smoak should not have changed so much. She shouldn’t affect him like this. In his career, Oliver is no stranger to tragedy, to tough calls, or to heartbreaking cases. So the fact that one woman’s survival and well-being is throwing him through the ringer...well, he simply doesn’t know how to make sense of it.

He thought he was doing the right thing by sending her to the safe house without giving her details about her own case. She was clearly on her last spark of adrenaline, but he knew that she needed to rest. Felicity had looked so hurt when he refused to tell her anything more.  _Betrayed_.

Driving to the safe house and sipping his coffee, Oliver can’t stop picturing her face, bruised and scarred as her eyes welled with fresh, angry tears. Because of him. 

God, he’ll sit her down and tell her everything if that’s what she really wants. He can already tell that the woman is going to drive him crazy, though. All he wanted to do was put her safety first. Which, any logical person would also prioritize. One might  _think_...but maybe he should have known that Felicity isn’t like most people. 

She wants to get involved, have her hands on the case. She wants to play a part in bringing her attacker to justice. And as much as it frustrates him, as much as he just wants her to cooperate and let his team handle it, he also understands why she feels that way. He’s the same way. It’d only been a couple of hours since he was driving like a mad man to get to the Holland Forest, abandoning his post at headquarters so he could help save Felicity. And thank god he’d done it.

Slowing down as he turns onto the street, Oliver shifts behind the wheel, sitting up straighter and focusing on the quiet suburb. He checks the neighbors yards and windows for anything suspicious, finally stopping in front of the safe house. 

Oliver glances over the house, noting that his agents have done their jobs well. The porch light is on, two cars in the driveway, but they’ve discreetly kept the curtains drawn shut. The light in the living room is on, where he can see shadows passing, and then there are lights on in two bedroom windows upstairs. One for Felicity’s room and one for Donna’s. There’s a soccer net set up on the front lawn, as well as a few balls tossed about and a pink bike leaning against the garage door. It all looks perfectly normal; a suburban family’s dream home. No one would suspect that it works as a government protected space for the FBI.

His coffee from the closest open gas station is awful, but he takes another sip, downing almost all of it in an attempt to fight off his fatigue. The synthetic peace of a safe house is always misleading. No matter how safe it looks, Oliver never wants to forget that there’s a threat involved. And he especially drills it into his agents, the ones who protect families like Felicity and Donna, that they need to be ready for anything, even if the comfort of a cozy house creates a false sense of security.

On the other hand, he hopes Felicity feels safe in there.

When his phone begins to buzz in his pocket, Oliver gives one more glance at the window before answering. “Yeah,” he quips, not bothering to look at the screen.

“Hey,” Sara’s voice replies groggily, “can’t sleep?”

“Uh,” Oliver hesitates. “No, not really.”

“Want me to stop by?” She asks, and he can hear the smile in her voice.

He stiffens a bit, “not tonight.”

Sara doesn’t answer for a long moment, and he holds his breath. He hardly ever says no. And he’d be a fool not to notice that his entire team had picked up on his very clear attraction to Felicity Smoak. Sara was definitely not an exception. She was probably one of the most perceptive agents on his team. But her next words still surprised him. “You’re there, aren’t you?”

“Where?” Oliver sighs, keeping the irritation out of his voice. He  _should_ be at home. Or at work.

“You know where, Oliver,” Sara lets out a deep breath, too. “How is she?”

He huffs, “I...I’m not going inside. I’m just keeping an eye out.”

“Listen, I know I’m not the only one who noticed the way you were looking at Felicity Smoak. Just be careful, Oliver. You’re playing with fire there. I don’t want you to get burned, and I don’t want you to burn Felicity, either. I mean, she’s obviously gorgeous and I don’t blame you...but be careful.” While most women might’ve been angry, jealous, or at the very least upset, he can hear the smile in Sara’s voice. And it reminds him why their little arrangement seemed so easy in the first place. Sara is his friend first, friend with benefits second. He relaxes a bit, knowing he shouldn’t be worried. Sara sees him the exact same way. 

Neither of them were looking for anything serious, just something to pass the time and quiet the loneliness. In truth, it was probably the healthiest relationship Oliver had ever been in, and it wasn't even a relationship. He isn’t opposed to commitment, though. And he knows Sara isn’t either. It’s just that they’ve always known  _they_ aren’t the right fit.

“I wasn’t looking at her in any kind of way,” he mumbles back, shoving his head back against the seat.

Sara scoffs, “please. You were her knight in shining armor and you were loving every second of it. Oliver...just admit that what happened today was different. I saw you out there, carrying her to safety. I’ve never seen that look on your face.”

“What look?” He’s almost afraid to ask.

“Like you had the whole world in your arms. It was personal for some reason. Ever since you heard her voice, you’ve had an investment in her.”

Oliver stays quiet, not knowing what to say to that. Sara wasn’t wrong, but he still couldn’t admit it out loud. Catching feelings for Felicity is incredibly inappropriate, not to mention impertinent, considering what Felicity must be going through. How she’s feeling. And he’s over there thinking about how blue her eyes were. “Sara...” he groans, not wanting to have this conversation. Because Sara has a way of pushing him into acknowledging things he’d rather ignore.

“I think you should ask her out. I mean, after we catch the son of a bitch who did this.” Like  _that_.

“I think...” he sighs, “that sounds like a very, very bad idea.”

“Why? You scared, Queen?”

Oliver purses his lips, grunting in disagreement. “Is this really what you want to be talking about?” He asks through clenched teeth.

Sara chuckles, “yeah, why not? Just because we have casual sex when we need it?” He opens his mouth, and then closes it. “News flash,” Oliver can practically see her rolling her eyes, “not every girl you meet is obsessed with you.”

“I–” Oliver rolls his eyes, too. “I know that.”

Pausing for a long moment, Oliver listens as Sara hums. “You’re a great man, Oliver,” she finally says, “and I appreciate you worrying about my feelings in all of this. But we were never exclusive. I’ll be just fine. You, on the other hand...are completely in over your head with that woman.”

He huffs out a laugh, thinking that Sara’s probably right. Not that he can just ask Felicity Smoak out, anyway. Even if he could, the last thing she probably wants is one of the people meant to protect her, hitting on her. Oliver flinches at the thought. 

It still feels like an ending for him and Sara though. He doesn’t have a future with Felicity, but Oliver feels like it’s a wake up call. He knows that it’s time to move on from the situation with Sara. Time to be with someone he could really care about.

* * *

 

Aside from hot showers, the next best thing to make her feel better is tea, some wool socks, and Ophie. Felicity’s dog snuggles right into the crook of her knee where they lay on the couch. And Donna comes in with a steaming mug of tea, sitting down beside her feet and handing her the warm cup. 

Donna lifts Felicity’s feet up, pulling them into her lap and gently rubbing her calves, avoiding the bandages, cuts, and bruises. Felicity hums and closes her eyes, gripping the mug tightly between her hands, letting it warm her up. “How are you feeling, hon?” her mother asks. “Honestly.”

“Frustrated.” Felicity shrugs. “Defeated...a little helpless.”

Nodding considerately, Donna watches her daughter. Felicity just sighs, scratching behind Ophie’s ears and trying to find comfort in how tranquil the dog seems. She wishes she could share some of that relaxation. “Do you want to talk about it?” Donna asks quietly.

Swallowing, Felicity shakes her head. “Every time I think about being in that box,” Felicity whispers, “I want to scream.” She meets her mom’s eyes, knowing that no one has ever loved her more. “I love you, but I really don’t want to talk about it right now.”

“Okay, baby,” Donna nods, giving her a supportive smile but Felicity can see that she’s trying not to get emotional. She glances away, not wanting to see how much this is affecting her mom, too. Once she’s composed herself, Donna clears her throat. “Should we talk about agent Queen, then?”

Felicity’s eyes dart to hers. “What about him?”

“Well, I know how much you hate talking about boys with me, but...honey, I swear that man has feelings for you.”

Shutting her eyes, Felicity purses her lips. “Mom, please...”

“I’m being serious,” she defends. “I couldn’t help but think ‘god, I wish a man would look at me like that.’”

“Really?” Felicity opens her eyes, looking at her mom incredulously. “Really...that’s what you were thinking about while your daughter was being interrogated by the FBI?”

Donna rolls her eyes, settling back into the couch as if it’s a typical girls night in her apartment. And Felicity is beyond grateful for it. “I’m just saying...love can come in the  _most_ unexpected places.”

“This would surely be the most unexpected place,” Felicity grumbles back. In truth, she hadn’t given Oliver Queen very much thought. Not while she was buried and trying to find a way to survive. When he found her in the forest, and she realized it was him, she’d been relieved, sure. She recognized his voice and instantly felt  _safe_. All of the pressure and fear slipped away and she’d thrown her arms around him like he was a lifeline. 

It wasn’t until he’d been carrying her through the woods, cuddled close to his broad chest by a pair of strong arms...that she really noticed how attractive he was. His chiseled jaw and full lips had been right in her face, hard not to notice. And every time he’d glanced down at her, all she’d seen in his clear blue eyes was concern for her. And kindness. 

He definitely had a harsh air about him, but underneath that, she could see the passion. He’d just been so attentive. It made her feel like  _she_ was his priority. Not just to save her life, but making sure she felt safe and comfortable as she was bombarded with medical staff, agents, and flashing lights. He’d made her feel protected.

But that didn’t mean she was about to get a boyfriend out of the most traumatic thing to ever happen to her. That’d just be...unthinkable. “Mom...” Felicity started, shaking her head because now Oliver Queen needed to be included into the ‘do not talk about’ list. 

Before she can voice anything, Felicity catches sight of agent Harper. He walks out from the kitchen, his eyes on the window as he reaches for the gun behind his back. Felicity immediately stiffens. “What is it?”

“Ms. Smoak, other Ms. Smoak,” agent Harper says quietly, his eyes trained on the window as he pulls the curtain back just an inch, cocking his gun. “I’m going to need you to head upstairs. Lock yourselves in the room at the end of the hallway and please don’t come out until I come get you.”

“Why?” Donna asks as Felicity’s brain goes blank, fear taking over, hurling her back into that dark, lonely, terrifying forest. 

Hovering by the door, agent Harper waits until they’re on their feet to answer, letting them gather themselves, prepared to follow his instructions. “Someone’s outside.”

 

* * *

Sitting in his car, Oliver alternates between talking himself out of going inside, and coming up with reasons he should. He knows he’d need some kind of excuse to give to his agents, but he can’t think of one that they’d buy. Harper has an annoying talent for seeing right through him, and Ramirez is already looking for reasons to hate him.

Still, he wants to see Felicity. Talking to Sara had taken a weight off of his shoulders that he’d never noticed was there before. It felt freeing in a way, even if there were a million other reasons why he should stay away from Felicity Smoak. The simple fact that he’d disappointed her made him want to do the exact opposite.

Finally, Oliver puts his hand on the door, muttering a curse under his breath as he decides to take his chances with Roy and Rene. At this point, he doesn’t really care. He can tell them that he just wants to check in with Felicity and Donna, and let his agents think whatever the hell they want, since they probably already have suspicions anyway. 

He was usually pretty good at staying neutral, but Felicity seemed to throw everything into disarray.

With his hand on the car door, Oliver freezes when he glances back up at the house. He can see a white haired man coming into the yard, sneaking in from the neighbors’ backyard and edging along the side of the house. The man doesn’t see him, so Oliver slowly and silently slips out of his car and onto the street. He takes his gun out, quietly inching closer to the man as he peeps in the windows. And a sick feeling settles in Oliver’s stomach.

His senses have always been good, and right now they’re screaming at him that this man is the Dollmaker. That he’s looking for Felicity.

He’s here for her.

Raising his weapon, Oliver closes in, wanting to make sure his shot is perfect, that there’s no room for error, not when Felicity is only a few feet away, just on the other side of the wall. He cocks his gun, ready to make his presence known. If the man doesn’t surrender to a pair of cuffs easily, Oliver knows he won’t hesitate to shoot.

Just as he’s about to speak, the front door swings open, and Roy comes out onto the porch with his own gun raised. “Hands up!” He shouts, training his weapon on the Dollmaker.

Too quickly, the killer turns on Roy, throwing a knife from his pocket straight into the agent’s chest. 

Oliver fires, the bullet grazing the man’s side. He flinches in pain, and Oliver hesitates, allowing a single moment to let him decide whether he wants to stand down, or get another bullet. In that moment though, the front door of the house swings open again, and Felicity rushes onto the porch, bare feet and all. “Get inside!” Oliver yells, his focus thrown off when he sees her, running out in her pajamas, completely vulnerable. But even more disturbing is the flash of recognition on the Dollmaker's face when he sees Felicity. The killer looks at her like she's some sort of prize, and it sets a fire in Oliver's chest.

Felicity drops to her knees at Roy’s side, ignoring Oliver and trying to stop his agent from bleeding out.

When he turns back, the serial killer is nowhere to be seen.

Shifting, Oliver holds his gun steady, scanning the darkness, knowing that he couldn’t have gotten far.

“This way, hoss!” He hears Rene’s voice from the backyard. “He’s over here!”

“Felicity,” Oliver says, moving towards the woods behind the house, keeping his eyes on Ramirez as he chases the Dollmaker behind the trees. “Stay with Roy. Backup will be here shortly,” he promises,  _hoping_ that Ramirez had the sense to call this in before he took off.

“Don’t go,” she pleads, her voice rising in panic as she tries to stop the bleeding from Roy's chest.

He holds his breath for just a moment, his heart clenching. But Oliver knows that in that moment, she’s the safe one. His hot-headed agent chasing after a serial killer with unexpected knife throwing skills... _that_  is where he needs to worry.

 

* * *

Roy Harper is a helpful, patient, and very bloody victim. Through grunts and wheezes, he advises Felicity, telling her to leave the knife in his chest to prevent more bleeding, asking Donna to run inside and grab a towel to help apply pressure. He doesn’t get irritated by her shaking hands. “Just like that, Felicity,” Roy says instead, “you’re doing fine.”

Felicity tries to offer him a reassuring smile, “back at you.” 

He huffs out a chuckle and shakes his head. She can see that he’s getting paler, that there seems to be a lot of blood on the towel, his clothes, her hands, and the porch. “Looks worse than it is,” Roy mumbles, dropping his head back against the wall behind him.

Donna comes out with another towel, kneeling down on the other side of Roy. “Let me help,” she places a hand over Felicity’s shaking, bloody fingers. Felicity nods, moving her hands so that Donna’s steadier ones can take over. She wipes the blood on her jeans, glancing back at the treeline behind the yard. “Where is he?” Felicity breathes, mostly to herself.

But Roy answers, “don’t worry about Oliver,” he tells her. “He’ll be just fine.”

A few more minutes go by, and Oliver still isn’t back. Neither is Rene Ramirez. But an ambulance does fly onto the street soon after, followed by four more SUV’s that release a flood of agents and officers. Donna meets them in the driveway, gesturing up at the medics who are helping Roy into the ambulance, and to the spot near the trees where Oliver had disappeared into.

Half of the agents take off for the dark woods, the rest get back into their cars and head back the way they’d come, but a remaining, lone agent approaches Felicity. The woman is taller than her, but still pretty short. She doesn’t  _look_ particularly threatening, but she carries herself in a way that lets Felicity know she’s lethal. Her blonde hair is tied back into a low ponytail, her eyes hard but not unfriendly. Felicity remembers her from the forest and at the FBI. “Hi,” she offers, “we haven’t had a chance to officially meet. I’m Sara Lance.”

“Hello,” Felicity grips her hands together, feeling Roy’s dried blood, making her skin itch. She nods, “I saw you in the Holland Forest. Thank you...for helping.”

Sara smiles, “no problem.” She glances down at her hands, “how about we go inside and get cleaned up?”

“Um,” Felicity looks around again, not completely sure why she feels so _worried_ about him. "Do you have any idea where Oliver is?”

Sara’s smile ticks up a notch. “Not yet, but I’m sure he’ll be back.”

* * *

 

The woods behind the safe house remind him a lot of the Holland Forest he'd been in just a few hours ago. But this time, the foliage isn't as thick. The sounds of his team flooding the street isn't as far away. He can hear cars and city life close by, just on the edge of town.

Rene had run off ahead of him, getting too much of a lead for Oliver to keep up, but he follows his agent's messy trail through the trees. The Dollmaker was much more clever, but Rene left a path like an elephant, unsettled mud and broken twigs allowing Oliver to keep up. Then again, maybe that was the point.

After ten minutes or so, he's almost on the other side of the wooded area, the next street visible. Which means that the killer could be gone in the wind by now. And if Rene's trail leads to the street, then that'll go cold as well. 

Ramirez might be a hot head, but he wouldn't just take off after a psychopath alone, would he? 

With concern rising in his throat, Oliver picks up his pace, pulling out a flashlight in case there's something he'd otherwise miss. But he reaches the treeline, and the dead leaves under his feet fade into a grassy lawn, and then tar. Standing on the street, Oliver looks both ways, hooking his hands on his hips. "Damn it!" He bursts, cursing the silence.

A low groan behind him catches his attention, as if in response to his voice, and Oliver quickly turns back for the woods. He follows the direction it had come, heading back for the trees. A few yards away from Rene's trail, Oliver sees him.

His agent is on the ground, one hand gripping his neck with blood running between his fingers and a knife abandoned in the leaves by his head.

Ramirez is fighting to keep his eyes open as Oliver runs to his side, pulling his coat off to help apply pressure. "You're gonna be fine," he tries to sooth, meeting Rene's wide eyes.

* * *

 

Once they get inside, Donna follows Felicity into the bathroom without a word, somehow sensing that leaving her alone to clean the blood off her body wasn’t ideal. And Felicity appreciates not having to ask for the help. Instead, Donna sits her down on the toilet, warming up the water in the sink while she finds soap and a clean towel. And then her mom does most of the work, scrubbing agent Harper's blood off her hands and arms, and apparently some on her neck and cheek, too.

After a couple minutes, Sara comes in with a fresh change of clothes and Ophie on her heels. She places the clothes on the counter, “you’re a tough woman, Felicity Smoak.” Sara offers quietly, “I think I can speak for our whole squad when I say thank you for keeping Harper alive. He's pretty much family to all of us.”

Felicity blinks, “Roy’s going to be okay?”

“Yep,” Sara smiles, “he’s pretty tough, too.”

With that, Sara leaves them alone again, closing the door so she can have some privacy to change. Felicity absently scratches behind Ophie’s ears while Donna finishes cleaning up. Then they both put in some effort to help get Felicity into the leggings and sweatshirt Sara brought.

When they’re ready, they head back downstairs, and Felicity leans against her mom as they go, her energy leaving with a wave of fatigue that only hits her now. She’d passed her breaking point hours ago. Before all the blood and violence and a psycho stalker coming back to finish the job he'd started. Now it's like she’s dead on her feet.

But when Felicity reaches the bottom of the stairs, she notices Oliver standing by the door, his hands on his hips while he speaks lowly to Sara.

His eyes shift up to look at her, and Felicity has to grip Donna’s hand a little tighter to stop herself from going over to him and wrapping her arms around him. Throw herself into the protection of his arms like she'd done in the forest. She has no idea why she has a sudden desire to feel him hold her, to bury her face in the crook of his neck. She just remembers how safe it had felt to be there, despite the whole...trying to escape a creepy forest and a psychotic madman that buried people alive for fun...thing. 

“Hey,” Oliver breathes. 

Felicity blinks, staring at him while Donna leads them a little closer to the agents. “Did you catch him?” Her mom asks.

“No,” Oliver answers cautiously, his voice low, and he keeps his eyes on Felicity. “He put my other agent in the hospital, too. Ramirez is being taken to intensive care...we're not sure where the...where our suspect went.” His eyes are sad, Felicity notices. Almost remorseful, like he feels guilty or worried that he's letting her down.

Nodding, Felicity stares up at Oliver. She hopes he doesn't feel bad. Even if he was holding back from her, she doesn't doubt that he's doing everything he can. Felicity can sense that he wants her to be okay, that he wants to keep her safe. She barely knows Oliver Queen but if there's one thing she does know, it's that he takes care of his team. And her, apparently.

The tall, intimidating agent in front of her shifts on his feet, looking a little nervous. “Felicity,” he sighs, glancing down, avoiding her eyes. “I’m sorry that the man who hurt you is still out there.”

“It’s not your fault, Oliver. I just hope Roy and Rene are going to be all right.”

He bites his lip, looking back up at her with wide, pleading eyes. “You’re obviously not safe here anymore.”

Felicity stiffens a bit. Her mind had not gotten that far, too much to process. “Oh, right...” All she wants to do was fall into a warm bed and wake up when this is all over. “Are we going to another safe house?”

“Well,” Oliver clears his throat, glancing away again. This time he looks at Sara, who nods her head as if to encourage him. “I was just thinking that uh, the safest place for you...and your mom, and Ophie,” he nods to her family as he speaks, and then he meets Felicity’s eyes, his pupils wide. “Um, I think the safest place for you is with me.”

Staring at him for a moment, Felicity’s eyebrows furrow, “what do you mean?”

“I’d prefer it if you stayed with me until we catch this guy, or, at least tonight. We don’t know how he found this house. And if he can find one of our locations, then I don’t want to take the risk that he can find all of them.” Oliver explains with a deep breath, “I just...” he huffs, “I think the safest place for you right now...is somewhere close, so...”

“You want us to stay with you? Where you live?”

Oliver nods, keeping his eyes on hers. “You can say no. We can bring some cots into the FBI building and set you guys up there. I just thought, uh, if you want to be more comfortable..." Oliver lets out a huff, shaking his head slightly at his own ramble. "I can protect you, Felicity.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was hoping to be done this fic by Halloween, but unfortunately that didn't happen. Still have an update for you though;)  
> And check out this stunning banner magda1102 made!

The apartment is silent, and Felicity stares up at the ceiling of Oliver Queen’s bedroom. He’d insisted for the past three nights that she sleep in his room while he takes the couch, with her mother in his guest bedroom. He seems like the kind of guy who hates dogs on the bed, but Oliver also encouraged Ophie to commandeer his room, coaxing her onto the bed the first night.

Ophie always slept in bed with Felicity, and she wondered if Oliver somehow knew. If he seemed like a ‘no dogs in the bed’ kind of person to her, then maybe he sensed that she was the opposite. 

His bed is huge, and so comfortable. Yet she’d only slept a few hours each night. Oliver has been slowly giving her more information, just a little bit at a time. She knows that whoever attacked her is a serial killer. That John Diggle, the man who’d questioned her, was the lead detective on the man’s case nine years ago. She knows that she is the first known victim of this particular serial killer in nearly a decade. She also knows that none of the other women he’s targeted have ever survived. 

She can tell that that scares Oliver. Or, maybe ‘scare’ is the wrong word.  _Concerns_ him? Clearly what happened the night at the safe house worries him if he’s willing to open his home up to her and her mother. And her dog too, who definitely has a grown little attached, a fondness for Oliver. Not unlike Felicity. 

Rolling over, Felicity sighs, seeing that it’s just passed 3:00 in the morning. She can hear the wind outside the window, a gentle whistle through the air, and it’s a sound she’s always loved. One that’s accompanied by the rustling of leaves and a chill in the city. But the wind just reminds her of the Holland Forest. The leaves blowing just make her think of the way she’d stumbled through them, bleeding and barefoot, trying to find a way out. Even the trees outside of Oliver’s window, although beautiful in color as they shift to reds and yellows and oranges, only act as a reminder of the looming, inescapable trees in the forest that day.

Pushing out of bed, Felicity quietly gets up and tip-toes to the door. Oliver has been doing a lot of his work from home for the last few days, but if he needs to go into the office, it’s always John Diggle who comes over to keep watch.

Tonight, John had come over with takeout for dinner, passing Oliver a bag to go, and then he’d sat down with Felicity and Donna to eat with them as if they were old friends who were just sharing a meal, catching up. 

Oliver treats them much the same, but Felicity could tell that they were both stressed. They all were. Still, she appreciates that the men were trying to make it casual, give both her and her mom a sense of normalcy. It allowed Felicity to forget that they were in hiding, cooped up in an unfamiliar apartment while a serial killer was clearly trying to find her.

Slowly, she opens the door and heads for the kitchen. For the most part, she and Donna have both been keeping to themselves, trying not to ask Oliver for too much. Once she closed herself in for the night, she tried to stay there and out of his way. But she isn’t nearly as exhausted as she’d been for the last few nights. Her body’s been restless, but now her head is getting back on track, she’s thinking more clearly, which means sleep is impossible.

Felicity crosses her arms as she walks into Oliver’s kitchen with Ophie at her heels. She turns the light above the sink on, quietly searching for a cup before filling it with water. Then she bends down and rubs Ophie’s head while she takes small sips. She knows John must be in the living room watching TV or reading a book, and the last thing she wants to do is pace around Oliver’s room for the next few hours. As nice as his bed is, both in coziness and in  _smell_ , because his pillows absolutely smell like him and it’s wonderful, Felicity really doesn’t want to stare at the ceiling anymore.

Putting her cup in the sink, she moves back down the hall, finding the living room empty. Felicity frowns, wondering if Oliver is home. John usually stuck to the kitchen or couch. Heading down the hall a little farther, Felicity notices the light on in Oliver’s study. She contemplates going back to bed, but then decides to take her chances and hope he’s not too busy to be bothered.

When Felicity reaches the doorway, she leans against it, glancing in at Oliver as she crosses her arms. He’s sitting at his desk with his head between his hands, staring down at a file as if new answers might jump off the page and solve everything. She bites her lip, seeing the determination in his posture, in the adorable little crease between his eyebrows. 

He’s so focused, and she has to remind herself that for him, it’s not about  _her_. Sometimes when he talks to her or looks at her, it feels like it is. It feels like he cares about her, but she knows it’s just her mind playing tricks. She’d love to have that man’s full attention. But this is his job. He’s just doing it...very well.

“Hey,” Felicity finally says gently, watching as his stoic features spark back to life. He takes in a deep breath, pulling his hands away from his face to look up at her. “You’re home,” she can’t hide the relief in her voice. As much as she trusts Diggle already, Oliver just...there’s something different about the comfort he brings her.

He smiles at the words. She didn’t mean for it to sound so domestic, like it’s  _their_ home. Felicity thinks she sees his eyes soften the tiniest bit...but that’s probably just in her head, too. 

“You look exhausted,” she offers kindheartedly, resting her head against the door frame.

Oliver laughs under his breath, “I’m okay.” Felicity nods, noticing when he subtly shuts the folder he’d been staring at. “How are you?”

“Fine,” she answers with a shrug. It’s been her automatic response every time Oliver, Donna, or John ask. Only Ophie is the one she’s told that she feels totally  _not fine_. Although if she thought she was fooling two FBI agents and her mother, she’d only be kidding herself. She knows that the three of them probably know better, but they haven’t pushed her. 

“Can’t sleep?”

“Nope,” Felicity sighs, “you either, huh?”

“No,” he leans back in his chair, keeping his eyes on her. “Want to come in?” Oliver offers gently, gesturing to the love-seat against the wall by his bookcase. 

She hesitates for a moment, scrunching up her nose, “are you sure? I feel like I’m already enough of a pain in the ass.”

Oliver just chuckles, “you’re not a pain in the ass, Felicity.”

“I stole your bed. You’ve been sleeping on the couch.”

“I don’t mind,” he’s still smiling, giving a slight shake of his head like it’s no big deal.

“Well, I really appreciate you doing this...for all of us.” Felicity straightens a bit; she’s never been comfortable with hand-outs, or having to owe anyone anything. But she owes Oliver Queen her life.  _Literally_ , seeing as he’s been saving it ever since they met. “I never imagined I’d be going through anything like this,” she tells him in a bold moment of honesty, “but you’ve somehow made it all a little easier. I don’t really know how to thank you for that.”

“It’s not a problem, Felicity.” He answers, his voice soft, sincere. And then his gaze flickers down to Ophie, and as soon as Oliver makes eye-contact, her dog moseys over to his desk and plops down at his feet, sitting right on his foot. She looks up at him with the biggest puppy-dog eyes Felicity’s ever seen. She scoffs, and Oliver winks at her before turning his attention to Ophie. 

“Felicity...” Oliver hesitates after a moment of slight awkwardness, pinching his lips together. “Do you want to come in?”

This time, she nods. Felicity sits down on the couch and Ophie hops up to sit beside her, but not without a little groan to show her disapproval of having to leave Oliver’s side. Felicity shifts on the couch, getting comfortable and trying not to notice the way Oliver’s watching her. Once she’s settled, he stands up from his chair and moves towards the couch, making Ophie’s tail wag in excitement.

Oliver sits down, keeping Ophie between them as he drapes his arm over the back of the sofa. “How are Roy and Rene doing?” Felicity asks, focusing on her fingers as they scratch through Ophie’s fur. 

Scraping his hand over his face, Oliver sighs. “Rene’s still in intensive care. But they’re optimistic that he’ll wake up.” He leans back against the couch, resting his head on the back of it. He looks more at ease than Felicity could remember, the tension leaving his shoulders ever so slightly. “Everything seems to be okay, so the doctors say it’s just a waiting game now. Roy got sent home this afternoon.”

“I should call him, or send a fruit basket or something,” Felicity ponders, pulling her lips to the side. Oliver’s head lulls to the side so he can look over at her. She raises an eyebrow when he fights a smile. “What?”

“Nothing,” Oliver shakes his head, glancing away, back up at the ceiling. “It’s just strange that after everything you’ve been through, you still seem so worried about everyone else. You’re not a very selfish person, are you?”

“Maybe focusing on everyone else is less painful than worrying about myself.”

Oliver looks back at her, his eyes glancing over her face, studying her. “It’s okay if you’re not  _fine_ , you know,” he says lowly. So they have noticed her penchant for that word. Felicity doesn’t respond, afraid that breaking down in front of him will result in him not giving her any more answers.

He smiles gently as if he knows exactly why she’s keeping her mouth shut. Luckily he doesn’t push, changing the subject instead. “Harper’s been begging me to let him ask my sister out for a year and a half now,” he tells her. “He wouldn’t do it unless he had my blessing, and I’ve been taking advantage of that.”

Felicity raises an eyebrow, “I didn’t know you had a sister.”

“ _Baby_ sister,” Oliver clarifies. “Her name’s Thea. She’s a couple years younger than Roy, and I have  _not_ been a fan of her dating someone older, especially not an FBI agent, one of  _my_ agents.”

Smiling, Felicity rolls her eyes playfully, “I bet Thea loves that you’re such a protective big brother.”

“She doesn’t know Roy’s been wanting to ask her out. She will soon enough though,” Oliver huffs, “I told Harper that if he makes a full recovery, then he has my blessing. My only hope now is that Thea will say no. He might be able to  _ask_ , but that doesn’t mean my sister will say yes, right?”

Felicity bites her lip, scrunching her nose in response and Oliver chuckles, groaning because the answer is obvious. “She’ll say yes,” Felicity says anyway, just to fully prepare him. “No offense to you and your rugged, mysterious vibe going on, because that’s totally charming, too...” Oliver’s cheeks grow a little red as he stares at her, surprised. “But Roy Harper looks like he just walked out of a fashion magazine. And I’m sure that even healing from a nasty wound, he’s gorgeous. Not to mention he got impaled trying to protect me, so you know, he’s got the whole selfless hero thing going for him.”

Oliver clenches his jaw, breathing out a small laugh, “would you like me to have him call you instead of Thea?”

Felicity feigns insult, reaching over to gently smack his arm. Oliver turns and catches her hand before she can hit him, tugging her a little closer so she’s hovering over Ophie. He meets her eyes, lifting his jaw as his gaze drops down to her lips. “Harper doesn’t really seem like your type,” he whispers.

She shivers, her heart picking up speed because the tone of his voice and the look in his eyes are the opposite of professional. “Oliver,” Felicity breathes, leaning in without even thinking about what she’s doing. But the more surprising moment comes when Oliver does the same, keeping her hand in his as he ducks his head, so close that their noses nearly touch.

And then Ophie whines, making them both freeze. Oliver closes his eyes, taking a couple deep breaths in. When the dog whines again, looking up at them with wide, pleading eyes, he clears his throat and pulls back. “I’ll take her out,” Oliver mumbles, gently releasing Felicity’s hand.

Overall, she’d been extremely grateful to have Ophie around. Someone to cuddle with at night. Someone to cry with. Sometimes, Oliver and John let Felicity or Donna come with them to take Ophie out, using it as an understandable, quick reason for them to get some fresh air. She also felt bad letting the agents take care of her dog. Cleaning up Ophie’s messes was surely not part of the job they’d signed up for. “I think her leash is in my room- _your_ room. Let me get my coat, I’ll come,” she offers, standing up.

“No,” Oliver puts a hand on her arm to stop her, then quickly pulls it back. “No, it’s all right. We’ll just be a minute.” She bites her lip, feeling like he must want some space after almost making a huge mistake...would kissing her be a mistake to him? Because she’s not sure she’d regret doing  _that_ even if she tried.

Watching as he whistles for Ophie and they head out, Felicity lets out a deep breath. She closes her eyes, pressing her fingers against her lips. He’d almost done it. She could feel the spark there, and she knew he’d wanted to. If it weren’t for Ophie, he might’ve kissed her.

Groaning, she feels the need to pace again. For different reasons this time. If anything, Oliver was doing a fantastic job of taking her mind off all things serial killer-ish. She wanders over to his desk, seeing the file and remembering the way he’d discreetly hidden it from her.

Oliver was sharing his home. He and Diggle were trying to keep her in the loop as much as possible. Reading whatever that file said would be disrespectful to everything they’d done for her.

But Felicity still feels like there is a big piece of the case that they aren’t telling her. And that sense is what pushes her to flip the manila envelope open.

The photograph at the top of the pile makes her heart sink to the floor. She sucks in a sharp breath, staring at the picture of a woman; dressed in a pink dress and sunhat, a full face of stage makeup, and propped up on some kind of stand with her hands crossed and her head tilted. The creepiest part isn’t the lipstick painted on to look like a smile. 

It’s the forest the woman is positioned in.

Felicity may not have seen the particular trees surrounding the dead body, but the same eerie sense she’d experienced in the Holland Forest is jumping right out of the photograph at her. “Oh, god...” she breathes. It’s not hard to add it up. Oliver’s sole focus is Felicity’s kidnapper. The serial killer on a comeback. So it only takes her a moment to piece together the fact that  _this_ is what the man who took her is capable of.

If he’d gotten his hands on her...this would’ve been her fate.

Her eyes immediately swim with tears, her hands beginning to shake as she straightens, stepping back from the desk. There’s a stack of photos beneath the first one, and she doesn’t want to imagine how disturbing the rest are. She knows she’ll already have nightmares for the rest of her life, imagining herself like...like a  _doll_. A dead, lifeless prop in some twisted man’s fantasy.

She feels like vomiting, or screaming. Felicity quickly closes her eyes, trying to take deep breaths and calm down but all she can manage is chokes and sobs.

“Hey, hey, hey,” she hears Oliver’s voice, rising with concern as he drops Ophie’s leash on the floor. He rounds the desk, ignoring the file and taking her face between her hands. “Look at me,” he mumbles lowly. Felicity opens her eyes, meeting his gaze. Oliver’s eyes are deep blue and calming, and she tries to breathe with him, following his exaggerated inhales and exhales. “You’re okay. You’re okay.”

Focusing on his eyes, and the feeling of his fingers combing through her hair, Felicity eventually catches her breath. Exhausted, she leans towards him, and Oliver pulls her closer, pressing his lips to the top of her head, tucking her face against his neck. 

Felicity knows that if she turns her head and looks down, she’ll see the photo again. Instead, she curls into him, gripping her fingers into his shirt and burying her head deeper into his neck. 

Just like she’s been wanting him to hold her for days now, Oliver embraces Felicity, his strong arms wrapping her up and keeping her safe. Her voice shaking, Felicity mumbles into his neck, “that would have been me.”

She’s not sure if it’s a reaction to her words, or if it’s just her breath on his neck, but Oliver shivers, his arms hugging her tighter.

 

* * *

 

 

Something about Oliver walking her to his bedroom makes Felicity feel like she’s being brought home from a first date. He hesitates by the door, looking down at her and pursing his lips. “Are you sure you’re okay?” He asks.

Felicity crosses her arms, sick of lying. She’s been putting on a brave act for days, and Oliver is the last person she wants to see her have a meltdown. But she can’t stop the tears that spring to her eyes. Knowing that her eyes are already red and puffy from crying in his office, Felicity doesn’t have the strength to fight them. Instead, she lets the tears fall down her cheeks, shaking her head in an honest answer. Her lip quivers with a sob, but she tries to at least swallow that. Oliver’s shirt is already wet with her tears, and she knows he needs to get some sleep, too.

“Felicity,” Oliver breathes her name, catching her face between his hands and wiping the tears away with his thumbs. He looks a little lost, like he’s not quite sure what to do with her. And Felicity tries to stop the tears that seem to just keep coming, taking in a deep, shaky breath. He tilts his head to the side, glancing down at her with attentive eyes. “Tell me what you need,” he says carefully, his eyes trained on hers.

Biting her lip, Felicity has the urge to ask him to come inside, to hold her for a while, but she’s afraid the answer will be no. Rejection at this point would only make her feel worse, and she obviously had enough to worry about. She knows she should bite back the tears, wait until she’s alone to break down. Put her brave face back on and say goodnight. Yet she can’t. His fingers are so warm, his eyes so comforting. “I–I don’t know.”

His expression drops a bit, disappointed. “I don’t want to leave you like this,” he mumbles. 

“How’s the couch?” Felicity asks quickly, pressing her cheek further into his palm and wetting his hand with tears. Oliver hesitates, his eyes darting between hers. “I mean, is it–are you comfortable sleeping out there?” Slowly, Felicity watches the wheels turning in his head. And then he simply shakes his head. “Well,” she breathes, feeling her heart pick up speed. She knows that he doesn’t have a problem with the couch. But he can tell where she’s going with this, and it gives her butterflies that he’s playing along. “Maybe you should try getting some sleep in your own bed then,” Felicity whispers, “at least for a few hours.”

His eyes widen slightly, his pupils dilating as he nods in agreement. Felicity opens the door, letting them both inside and closing it behind them. Ophie immediately hops up onto the bed, and Felicity gives a small, breathy laugh. “She likes your bed as much as I do. I think we’ll both miss it when we go home.”

But she doesn’t miss the way his eyes darken a bit, his gaze shifting from the dog to her. “Felicity, I–um, I just want you to know that I’ve enjoyed having you here. And Ophie and Donna. I know this is probably a strange thing to say but...you’ve all...you’ve made my place feel a bit more like home somehow,” he says lowly, his eyebrows pushing together. “You said you didn’t know how to thank me...but the truth is, I can’t help thinking that I’m going to miss having you here. This apartment just won’t feel the same without you guys in it.  _I_ don’t know how to thank  _you_ for that.”

Feeling a little more confident, Felicity keeps her eyes on Oliver as she sits down on her side of the bed, or his, she isn’t even sure which side he sleeps on. “I think you’re doing it right now,” she answers softly, both of them speaking as if they don’t want to break the silence, the spell on the room that’s telling them this is all okay.

She knows that he understands what she means when he nods once. It’s been surprising yet comforting the way that they seem to understand each other without words. Oliver comes around the other side of the bed, slowly climbing in beside her. He lays still, each of them staring up at the ceiling on their backs. She can hear her own breaths, focusing on keeping them slow and even with his.

After a few minutes, she notices Oliver turning his head to look at her, and she does the same. “I know you’re scared, Felicity. You don’t have to pretend you’re not just for everyone else’s sakes. To be perfectly honest with you...I’m scared, too. Ever since I heard your voice, I’ve just felt this...this  _something_ ,” he lets out a frustrated huff, “I don’t know how to explain it, I’m really not the best with words...” Oliver glances at her face, his eyes roaming over her features, focusing on her lips for a moment too long before he meets her eyes again. And Felicity can’t help but think that he doesn’t need to be good with words with eyes like that. They say everything perfectly. “But I just...I care about you, Felicity.” 

“I care about you, too.” She nods, knowing exactly what he means. There’s definitely something between them. It could just be the intensity of the situation, but neither of them can ignore it when they’re lying next to each other in a dark bedroom, either. Felicity can’t deny the fact that the attraction is strong. She worries about him every time he leaves, and feels better whenever he’s home. That has to all mean  _something,_ like he’d said.

She hopes there’ll be time to figure that out. After all of this is over. But neither of them want to complicate everything by diving into it now. She can tell that Oliver’s biting his tongue, and she does the same. Yet she does find comfort in  _something_...in knowing that he cares about her, maybe even has some feelings for her that are not so platonic. 

“So,” she finally breaks the silence, scooting a little closer to Oliver and adjusting herself onto her side, facing him. “What’s the deal with you and John?” Felicity can see that there’s respect between them, fondness. And Oliver clearly trusts Diggle since he’s the only one who Oliver asks to come keep watch on Felicity and Donna. 

Oliver turns onto his side too, also shifting closer so that they’re only about a foot apart. He lifts his shoulder, sighing. “Dig was assigned to the case from nine years ago. He became pretty obsessed with it.”

Felicity shivers, “I can see why.”

“I know...” Oliver whispers back, “I think I feel just as desperate to catch this guy now as John did back then...but at the time, all I could see was my mentor, a man who I invested a lot of my trust and faith in, falling apart.”

“He couldn’t handle the pressure?” She asks softly.

“Not exactly,” Oliver shakes his head. “He put most of the pressure on himself. I think it was just the um,  _uniqueness_ of the case,” Oliver chooses his words carefully, but Felicity can think of a few others. Disturbing. Violent. Sick. Horrific. “He nearly let it consume him.”

“What happened?”

“The case went cold. Diggle drove himself crazy trying to find answers that weren’t there. I...I really thought the man was losing his sanity for a while there. He started slipping on other cases. Making mistakes that he never would have made before. And then a couple months later, I found out he was having a bit of a drug problem.”

Her eyebrow shot up, “John? John Diggle? The man who loves solitaire and veganism?”

Oliver breathes out a laugh, “he’s changed a lot since then. After that, he was let go from the FBI. Because of me. When I realized he was on drugs, I kind of ratted him out. Honestly, I was hoping it would push him to clean himself up, go to rehab. But I was also angry,” Oliver nods once. “He was the Director of the FBI, and he was battling an addiction. It put our whole team at risk every time we went out there with him...and I was  _livid_ that someone I looked up to could be that selfish.”

“He let you down,” she whispers back.

Oliver nods, “yeah.”

“What you did doesn’t seem unreasonable,” Felicity answers, noticing the little crease of concentration between his eyebrows again. “John must have understood...I mean, after he had some time to step back from it.”

“That’s what I thought would happen,” Oliver bites his lip. “I didn’t blow the whistle on him for any other reason besides concern for him and for the agents he was leading. But after he was gone, the board offered me his job the very next day. And I took it. So...John hasn’t quite seen it that way. He thought I had other motives for reporting him.”

Watching Oliver for a moment, Felicity sees the regret in his eyes, and she feels like he has a much bigger heart than he lets on. “I don’t think you did anything wrong, Oliver. And I think John knows that by now.”

Nodding in response, Oliver gives her a small smile before changing the subject. “Feeling any better?”

Felicity sighs, biting her lip as she considers her next words. “Yeah,” she mumbles, “I’m glad you’re here.” Oliver keeps his gaze on her, reaching his hand up to gently brush her hair away from her face. She has to stop herself from groaning, turning her face into his warm fingers. She’s never felt so deprived of touch, but she  _needs_ it. 

Sliding closer, Felicity closes her eyes, half afraid that he’ll push her away. 

Oliver does stiffen slightly when she invades his space, tucking her head beneath his chin and burying her nose into his neck. But after a moment she feels his fingers soothing her, running up from her elbow to her shoulder and back.

“I feel safe with you,” Felicity finally voices it. Finally setting out her vulnerability, her weakness that lets him know she’s not as fearless as he might think. In truth, she is  _terrified_. Yet, not as much when Oliver is hovering close by.

She admits the very thought that had her agreeing to come to his apartment in the first place. The one that calmed her down in the Holland Forest. The very same peacefulness fills the room now, just as it has every time he’s around her. 

“Oh, honey,” Oliver lets out a deep breath as he relaxes into her. He wraps his arms around her, pulling her closer to his chest and enclosing her in his warm embrace. It feels  _perfect_. Felicity can’t think of anywhere she’d rather be. Like he’s some kind of shield that protects her against reality. 

As he holds her, his fingers combing through her hair and his lips pressing against her head, she listens to the calm and steady beating of his heart under her ear. 

Felicity tries not let her doubts inside their warm little world, not to ruin it. She tries not to wonder how long that can last.


	6. Chapter 6

The sleeping woman on Oliver’s shoulder is a sight that’s hard to look away from.

And it’s not just because she’s beautiful. Although, she is. 

It’s also because she looks more peaceful than he’s seen her. For the last week since he first heard her voice, there has been tension in her. Present in her body every time he’d looked at her. Always on the edge of something terrible. And he completely understands why, but still, it’s nice to see her so serene. Sleeping peacefully.

Before Felicity fell asleep, she’d told him that she feels safe with him. And he was pretty sure his heart had stopped beating for a moment, restarting again only when she nestled her nose into his neck, putting validity to her words. She felt  _safe_. Because of  _him_.

As Oliver combed his fingers through her hair, he couldn’t help feeling a little desperate to keep her that way. Having Felicity wrapped around him, curled up in his arms and sleeping soundly, he wants to protect her. He’s never wanted anything more.

His heart clenches a little bit when she whimpers, her fingers tightening on the sleeve of his shirt and her nose turning further into his neck. Hiding. Oliver tightens his arms around her, pressing his lips to her forehead.

Ophie whimpers too, from the bottom of his bed, like she’s responding to Felicity. The dog picks her head up from her spot at their feet, yawning as she checks on her owner. Oliver huffs, “I know, Oph. We’ll make sure nothing happens to her,” he mumbles, shaking his head when Ophie lets out a sigh. She groans as she lays back down, satisfied with his words, apparently. 

Pulling back slightly so he can look down at Felicity, Oliver stares at her face. Her lips are curved in a perfect, slightly chapped, beautiful bow shape. She still has a cut at the corner of her mouth and a bruise on her forehead. Her eyebrows are furrowed, focused on whatever she’s seeing behind her eyelids and he knows she must not be enjoying it. Oliver settles his head on his pillow, turning to look at her fully. He brushes his fingers through her hair, stroking over her ear and neck, pushing it all back over her shoulder. It seems to relax her, so he continues to do it, letting his warm fingers roam over her skin in soothing, innocent touches.

As he comforts her back into a peaceful sleep, Oliver notices something on her shoulder. 

Just over her collarbone, her skin is bruised. But the bruise is different than the rest that cover her body. Dark purple and circular, set alone on her skin in that one spot. It’s barely noticeable, but then again, he hadn’t taken the time to examine her. And he doubts that she had focused too much on her injuries, either. 

Looking at it, Oliver also notices the spot has an unnatural, slightly bluish color. He frowns, leaning in to get a closer look, gently gliding his fingers over the spot. 

His heart clenches in his chest when he feels something small and hard, just beneath the surface of her skin.

Sitting up, Oliver carefully lays Felicity onto the bed, guiding her onto her back so he can hover over her, pushing his fingers a little harder on the spot. Ophie seems to notice that something’s happening, and she crawls up on the other side of Felicity, squeezing herself into the tiny space by Felicity’s hip. 

 The more he touches and examines it, the more he feels like there’s something under her skin. And his heart  _sinks_.

“Hey,” Oliver whispers breathlessly, his throat tightening with the possibilities of what the hell it could be. He knows he has to wake her up. But he also doesn’t want to make her panic.

Felicity groans, reaching to shove his hands away from poking at her. "What?” She croaks, frowning and trying to roll onto her side, away from him. Oliver holds tight, earning another groan of disapproval.

“Felicity,” he says in the most calm voice he can manage, “I need you to stay still, honey.” His eyes search the room, his index finger pinpointing whatever is buried in her skin, resting over her bone. With his mind racing, Oliver quickly cards through his options. If he’s going to get it out, he’ll have to cut it. He can feel that it would only be a superficial scratch but the idea of hurting her doesn’t sit well. “Felicity,” he says, meeting her groggy eyes. She’s still half asleep, confused, but he knows that this will freak her out. As it would anyone.

 “Listen to me,” Oliver mumbles lowly, trying to keep control of the quiet, calm, drowsy atmosphere still hanging in the air between them. “There’s something on you, and I need to get it out.”

“What?” she asks, her eyebrows furrowing.

“It’s under your skin, Felicity. Not deep, but it’ll hurt a little bit. You’re going to be okay, but I need you to stay calm. Do you trust me?”

She blinks up at him, “what is it?”

“I don’t know,” he sighs, knowing it can’t be good. “The man who took you must have injected you with something.” Oliver strokes his free hand down her arm, keeping the other one securely on the bruise, making sure he doesn’t lose the spot. He sees the flash of panic on her face. “Hey, hey, hey,” he tightens his grip, waiting for her to meet his eyes. “Will you let me help you?”

Felicity’s breathing speeds up, despite his attempts to keep this calm. He doesn’t blame her, yet she still nods, her jaw clenching. “Get it out.”

First, he takes her hand and guides her finger to the place on her neck, telling her to keep still. Then Oliver quickly rolls off of her, hurrying out of the bedroom to find what he needs. A moment later he returns with a towel, bandages, and a sterile knife in hand. 

Her chest is rising and falling with uneven breaths, and Oliver makes quick work, “close your eyes, please?” He asks, knowing enough about people and pain to know that one look at the knife in his hand, and she’ll be panicking. 

Felicity’s trying to control her breaths, her fingers poking at the tiny bruise. “I didn’t even notice...” She squeezes her eyes shut, holding her breath. Oliver doesn’t hesitate, not giving either of them time to stew over the terrible turn of events the night had taken; from holding her as she fell asleep to waking her up so he could cut her open. 

But he doesn’t dwell on it. He can’t. 

Instead, Oliver presses his fingers to her skin again, finding the tiny, hard object there. Then he lifts the knife and pushes against her skin with practiced pressure. He cuts just deep enough and long enough that he can pull out the tiny device. 

“Ah,” Felicity gasps as soon as the blade touches her, and Oliver’s grateful for the adrenaline that’s surely coursing through her, distracting her body from the pain. He’s also quite thankful for his experience with knives. It’s over in a matter of seconds, before she can really feel what’s happening.

“Done,” he sighs in relief, pressing the towel to her collarbone. 

“What is it?” Felicity breathes, her eyes flying open.

Oliver wipes her blood off of the little chip, holding it up between his thumb and index finger, carefully examining it in the moonlight coming in from the window. His heart sinks to his stomach, seeing the technology. There’s a blinking blue light in the corner of it like a beacon. “It’s a tracker,” he exhales sharply, scrambling out of bed.

His own fear finally reaches him, and Oliver tosses the device on the floor without a second thought, ready to smash it.

Felicity jolts up after him, holding the towel against the wound. "Wait!” she yells, stopping him on his frantic mission to destroy it. “I can get something from that. I can find him!”

Oliver huffs, surprised more at himself than at her. He’s a trained FBI agent, yet the thought of the Dollmaker finding her almost has him smashing evidence. “This is how he found you at the safe house,” he growls. 

But it wasn’t that the Dollmaker had  _found_ her at all. He’d known where she was all along. He’d followed her right to the house. He'd followed through the Holland Forest too, like she was his prey. Which meant...

“He knows I’m here, then,” Felicity whispers, coming to the same conclusion as him. “He knows I’ve been here this whole time.” 

His expression breaks, hating that it makes him feel helpless. Hating that his feelings for Felicity are clouding his judgment. He could be costing this woman her life; curling up in bed with her, letting himself get distracted instead of finding a way to save her.

Staring at Felicity as she sits up, Oliver can see the fear in her eyes. But there’s also anger. Vengeful fury. “He knows I’m here and he hasn’t tried anything yet,” Felicity grits through her teeth. “Destroying that thing is destroying our way to find him.”

“Felicity, we can’t wait. We need to get you and your mother somewhere safe. To the bureau. You need to be somewhere he can’t find you... _away_ from this thing,” he gestures down to the tracker still on the floor.

“No,” she shakes her head, crawling off the mattress to stand in front of him. “It’s the middle of the night, if he sees me leave here, or if the tracker isn’t where I am, he’ll act, right?” Oliver grits his teeth, surprised and a little flustered that she’s the one thinking clearly at the moment. “Let me use your computer, Oliver, and I swear, I’ll have this guy in handcuffs by the time the sun comes up.”

There’s a long pause between them, one where Oliver knows she’s right, but he wishes she wasn’t. And where Felicity can see the truth of that all over his face. She bends down to pick up the tracker at their feet, examining it for herself. Oliver watches her for a moment, and then his body stiffens as his head spins over what this all means.

His eyes shift to the window, wondering if the Dollmaker is somewhere out there, hiding in the shadows and watching them. Watching them for  _days_. Anger floods his head, kicking himself for thinking she’d be safer with him than under protective custody. He’d let her and Donna go on walks, let them live as if Felicity wasn’t a target, invited her into his bed like it was a natural step between them. But it wasn’t natural. None of it was.

There was a sword hanging over their heads, and he’d been stupid enough to take his eyes off of it.

Annoyed with himself, Oliver steps back from Felicity. He glances down at her to find her eyes already on him, watching, and he can tell by the sad, dejected look in her eyes that she knows exactly what he’s thinking. “Let’s get you cleaned up,” Oliver mumbles, leading her into the kitchen.

He sits her on a stool and pulls his first aid kit out, and then he gets to work on patching her up, keeping his eyes away from hers and focused on what he’s doing. But he can feel her watching him, trying to read him, understand him. “You know we never would have found that tracker if last night didn’t happen, right?”

Finally breaking the silence, Oliver pauses, letting her words sink in. When he looks up at her face, he notices her misty eyes, just for a brief moment before she blinks it away.  _What the hell?_  

Oliver freezes, his hand carefully covering the bandage on her shoulder, placing it with care. He doesn’t even want to think about what could’ve happened if the Dollmaker got to her before they realized he was even there. “It doesn’t matter, Felicity,” he finally answers softly. 

She looks away, towards the window as her lips form a hard line. The hurt on her face renders him speechless. And he knows he misspoke, yet he can’t find it in himself to clarify. They both need to focus on what matters. Her safety. Her life. She nods once, “I thought it did. My mistake.”

Oliver’s eyebrows furrow, confusion setting in. The only thing that matters at the moment is finding the Dollmaker and saving her life. The rest can wait. Somehow he feels like he and Felicity are having different conversations.

She won’t even look at him, much less explain what the problem is. Sure, he hated the fact that they’d met like this. He hated the fact that she was hurt, and afraid, and in danger. He hated the fact that his memory of holding this woman, sleeping with her on his chest, would be tainted by what happened after. But...she didn’t think he regretted it, did she?

Too afraid to ask, Oliver simply steps back, glancing down at the bandage one more time. “My computer is in the study...it’s all yours.”

* * *

The bandage on her neck aches. A very annoying reminder that pushes her fingers across the keyboard, that keeps her focused on finding out where the tracker had come from.

As soon as she’d closed herself and her dog into Oliver’s study, he’d left her alone. She feels exhausted, even after the wonderful hours she’d spent between Oliver Queen’s warm body and the cool sheets of his bed.

It’s not until she notices the sun coming up that she finally stops. Blinking in surprise at the rays of sunlight filtering through the window, Felicity sighs, shifting in the chair at his desk, and her muscles disagree. She'd been sitting like a statue for hours, her fingers the only things moving, and her body is not happy about it.

Ophie lifts her head at the noise of complaint, her ears tilting down in concern. She just huffs, standing up from the chair and stepping towards the window.

Felicity lifts her arms above her head, arching her back to stretch, dinosaur noises necessary. When Ophie whines, her worried little head tipping to the side, Felicity can’t help but breathe out a small laugh. “I’m okay, buddy,” she promises, twisting her back again, stretching the muscles.

“Felicity?” Oliver’s voice sounds from behind the door. “Can I come in?”

“Yeah,” she breathes, feeling a little weird about granting him permission when it’s his apartment. She also wonders how long he’s been waiting there.

Oliver glances around the room, his eyes finally landing on her and staying there. He’s dressed now, unlike her, his hair still wet from a shower. “I think I found where the device came from,” she dives right in. 

“But I’m not sure how much use it’ll be. I was hoping I could link the tech to something on a small scale, but it looks like he ordered it from a manufacturer out of Central City. If we knew his name, I could hack their system and find out which chip he ordered and where he had it sent to. But since we don’t,” she sighed, “it could take me a few days.” Felicity met Oliver’s eyes, trying to find a reaction but he just listened, his face smooth. “I have a feeling he’ll find me before I find him,” Felicity mumbles, the words slipping out.

Cocking his head to the side, Oliver moves towards her. “Let me,” he says quietly, when he’s close enough that she can hear the words. Felicity hadn’t realized that she was rubbing her own shoulder with one hand, not until Oliver steps behind her and replaces her fingers with his own, his large palms pressing against her back.

And it’s heaven.

His hands are warm and gentle, the heat from his chest on her back even though he’s not touching her. Felicity groans, dropping her head forward and listening to Oliver’s breathy laugh.

She’s not sure why he’s being so nice to her. Not after the way he’d reacted earlier that night, like he regretted what had happened between them. Her in his bed. A boundary being dangerously close to crossed. Or was it already?

“He’s not going to find you, Felicity,” Oliver hums, his voice a low, dark promise. “He won’t lay a finger on you ever again.” Not like  _his_ fingers currently are. 

Surprising her, Oliver leans closer, his thumbs still working. His muscled chest presses against her back, and then she feels his breath ghost over the shell of her ear. His lips aren’t far behind, brushing against her skin as he speaks. “I swear to you, I won’t let him.”

Shivers shoot down her spine, and she quickly steps away from Oliver, hoping he didn’t feel it. Felicity clears her throat, confused between the sensual rumble of his tone now and the distant, closed-off way he’d spoken to her just a few hours ago. _It doesn't matter._

In all honesty, the only thing she knows for sure is that Oliver Queen is a very confusing man. But he makes her heart race like no one she’d ever met before.

“So,” Felicity clears her throat, crossing her arms. “What’s the plan?”

Oliver raises an eyebrow, “your mom is getting ready. Diggle is on his way. We’re going to headquarters.”

With a simple nod, Felicity steps around him and towards his bedroom to get herself ready, too. She never expected Oliver to keep them in his home like sitting ducks. The bureau is safer. And she could get more information there, whether he liked it or not.

Deciding on a quick shower, Felicity got ready in record time. Her belongings are scarce, a minimal bag that John Diggle had packed for her and Donna. By the time she comes out of Oliver’s bedroom, the rest of them are prepared to leave. Her mother gives her the bravest smile she can manage and a comforting hug. Diggle stands patiently at the door, Ophie’s leash in hand.

And Oliver waits while they head out, falling in line beside Felicity with a steady hand on her back. As soon as the door of his apartment closes, she can feel him tense. Taken out of his safe place. His eyes harden, shifting around the building while they make their way silently to the elevator. 

He doesn’t remove his hand when they all cram inside, and Felicity catches her mom noticing. Apparently Oliver catches Donna’s lingering eyes, too, but his grip simply tightens on her lower back, his fingers flexing and relaxing. 

Felicity holds her breath from when the elevator doors open, until they’re safely in Oliver’s SUV, keeping her head on a swivel. She takes the back seat with her mother, Ophie nestled between them. And like so many times before, Felicity scratches the dog’s neck, finding comfort in her soft fur. 

No one asks for details on the car ride over, but John continuously glances at her in the rear-view and Donna discreetly checks on her bandaged shoulder, letting her know that Oliver has caught them up to speed.

When they reach the building, Oliver pulls into the parking garage, instructing them to wait a moment before getting out.

Felicity and Donna’s eyes watch the garage with tension and fear. Oliver, John, and Ophie scan it with trained eyes, on high alert for threats. Once satisfied, the men open their doors, and Donna and Felicity follow suit. 

He’s by her side before her toes even touch the ground, that warm, persistent hand on her back. Oliver doesn’t look at her, still focused on the dark corners of their surroundings, “you have the chip?” he asks, closing her door.

She nods, tapping her hand against her purse.

Oliver keeps her close, huddling her against his side as they walk to the elevator. And she’s surprised but grateful when he keeps that hand in place as they ride up, his fingers rubbing against her back.

Again, Felicity is surprised when the doors open and Oliver doesn’t move away. Instead, he guides them to a conference room at the end of a long hallway, and fixes her and her mother some coffee while they wait for his team to show up.

It only takes a few minutes, each of the agents taking their seats around the table, voices low and none of them meeting her eyes. John escorts Ophie and her mother out of the room as the agents take their seats, but Oliver's gaze keeps her in place, a tiny shake of his head telling her not to go anywhere. She expects him to take the empty chair at the head of the table; which is clearly his, judging by all the people who walked right by it to find a different place to sit.

But Oliver pulls out the seat beside her, rolling it back until he can fold his hands on the table in front of him. And Felicity watches with rapt interest as he explains the tracking device incident to his agents, avoiding the whole we-were-in-bed-together part of it and detailing the work she’d done to trace it back to the manufacturer in Central City. 

The only time she takes her eyes off of Oliver is to see their reactions, pleased that they all look impressed.

Once the agents have exhausted all the avenues they can think of, they pull in Rene Ramirez for a conference call. Some of their theories and cop-talk fly right over Felicity’s head, the same way she imagines breaking down the art of coding would earn her some wide eyed confusion from Oliver Queen. The thought makes her chuckle, but she quickly snaps her lips shut. She’s not sure why he’s letting her sit in on this confidential meeting about her own almost-murder case, but none of his agents seem to question it aside from curious glances. So, she’s not about to ask. Instead, she stays quiet, keeping her eyes mostly on Oliver, especially when the agents refer to her kidnapper as ‘the Dollmaker’ which makes her skin crawl, reminding her of the photograph she’d found in Oliver’s office.

The good news is that Rene Ramirez had gotten a pretty good look at the guy during their scuffle. And he was willing to work with a sketch artist to give them a face. If they had his face, Felicity could find his name. 

Oliver’s eyes shift to hers, and she knows he’s thinking the same thing.

She offers him a small smile, her heart beating faster at the thought of Oliver Queen knowing her so well, knowing what she would be able to do with a simple drawing of her attacker, when in reality, he barely knew her at all.

“Thank you, Ramirez,” Oliver sighs, cutting off the agent who was starting to get sidetracked. “Rest up. We’ll see you when you’re back.”

Rene scoffs, “oh please, hoss,” his voice carries through the speakerphone, his tone all teasing and good nature. “I know you’re enjoying your time without me bothering you. I’m sure you and Lance are relieved not to have me breathing down your necks all day about your little fling.”

It isn’t fair to be upset, Felicity knows that as quickly and easily as she knows that she  _is_ upset. As soon as the words settle.

She also knows how to read a room. 

Her back stiffens as tension fills the space. Oliver’s stillness that seeps around the room, spreading to the other agents. Her eyes shift between the man beside her and the woman sitting across from her. Sara Lance had shown her kindness. Now, the woman looks embarrassed. 

A  _fling_?

It isn’t fair to be upset, but she  _is_.

“What?” Rene’s voice breaks the silence, ever the perceptive FBI agent, sensing something even through the phone. “What’d I miss?”

Blinking, Felicity rolls her chair back, speaking her first words since Oliver’s team entered the room. “Excuse me,” she mumbles mostly to herself. And she exits in a hurry, feeling Oliver’s eyes on her back as she listens to Ramirez release a low whistle upon realizing her presence. 

She’s sure that between all those sharp brains, everyone knows why she’s practically sprinting to the door. She has feelings for Oliver Queen. It's obvious. Surely, a room full of government trained officials can detect as much. But she'd rather let the agents watch her escape from the room instead of letting them see her cry.

It’s not like she’d laid out _her_ sex history to Oliver in between all of the life-saving, protecting, cuddling stuff. But she felt like she’d been vulnerable with him, and it was obvious by Ramirez’s comment that he and Sara were not exactly  _history_.

They hadn’t done anything last night. But if Felicity was his girlfriend, she would be incredibly angry if her boyfriend had snuggled up with a woman the way Oliver had last night. Yet for some reason,  _Sara_ had looked ashamed.

When she hears the door to the conference room open, she knows the meeting must be over. And the last thing she wants to do is watch all those agents walk by and gawk at her. So, she quickly ducks into the first abandoned room she sees.

This one is smaller, filled with casual seating and a miniature version of a conference table. But her eyes quickly adjust to the light, noticing a giant board in the corner. She steps towards it, her heart in her stomach because she’s seen these things in movies. She knows what it is.

A murder board.

Did the FBI actually use these things for investigations? It’s made of glass, lines drawn connecting the pictures and notes in different colors. There’s a large map in the center, showcasing everything from Starling to Central City. Marked X's indicate each victim’s home, and their grave site within the Holland Forest, on the map. Felicity shivers when she finds her own.

It looks as confusing and frustrating as she feels. Messy, chaotic, with no real patterns or connections that she can see, in the midst of all the information in her face.

And now she understands the mystery that plagues Oliver Queen. The one that plagued John Diggle. The reason why the agents in this place all seem to stare at her. 

This case is haunting. 

And she’s the only one who survived it.

“Felicity?”

Despite the short time they’d known each other, she recognizes his voice instantly. It’s the one that calmed her down while she was buried. The man that had kept her sane, alive, and fighting. The man that apparently has a ‘women I probably shouldn’t be attracted to’ kink. She clears her throat, crossing her arms over her chest.

“You shouldn’t be in here...” Oliver whispers, stepping up beside her with a soft hand on her elbow, pulling her away from the board.

“I want to see the crime scene photos.”

Oliver stills, meeting her eyes for a moment, looking nervous. Since the last time she’d stumbled upon them had ended in tears and hyperventilating, she can’t blame him for hesitating. He bites his lip, his fingers flexing on her arm as he shakes his head. “No.”

“No?” She raises an eyebrow. “If I’m going to die at the hands of this creep, then I should at least know my fate.” She forces back a shiver, remembering the body propped up on a stand, staged like a prized doll, eyes wide open in death.

She’s surprised when Oliver’s eyes flash with anger, his grip tightening for the briefest moment. His hand loosens, but he steps closer. Oliver stares down his nose at her, his whole self just oozing confidence. Control. “You are not going to die,” he thrums, “do you hear me?”

Felicity steps back, “I think your girlfriend would appreciate you learning about personal space when it comes to other women.”

To that, Oliver literally  _growls_. His hands grab her waist and pull her back in, flush against his chest. “I don’t have a girlfriend.”

“Really?” She deadpans, cocking her head to the side. She believes him instantly, which feels strange for her, so she challenges him anyway. He’d been weird this morning, and she’d be lying if she said she didn’t want to get to the bottom of this.

His jaw clenches, his eyes narrowing as he stares down at her. And god, she felt certain that he could read her mind. “Yes, really,” Oliver grits. And then his hands gripping her hips loosen, and he skims his fingers up her arms. Slowly, watching her face and her response the whole time, Oliver brushes his knuckles across her cheeks, letting them lazily explore her hair, touching her ears. One thumb swipes across her bottom lip, and her eyes close with a soft groan.

Apparently, he’d gotten the answers he wanted. Oliver sighs, “this is going to be over soon, Felicity. You’ll be safe. You can go back to your normal life and you won’t need to live with me anymore.”

Felicity opens her eyes, feeling like he has more to say. “Yeah,” she breathes, her heart skipping more than a few beats when she sees the intense way he’s looking at her.

His eyes are trained on her, deep with buried passion she'd never seen before. Oliver Queen is definitely more than meets the eye. His thumb brushes over her lip again. “So," he takes a deep breath, "when that happens...I would really like to ask you out on a date.”

“Yes,” she nods.

Oliver blinks, and then a slow smile pulls at his lips, drawing out a delicious dimple she hadn’t noticed before. “I haven’t actually asked yet.”

“Yes,” she huffs, nodding again and wishing she’d been born with more seduction in her bones. But, Oliver seems to find her charming, breathing out a laugh as he pulls her in. 

He hugs her.

In comfort, in protection, in care, in a silent promise. He wraps his arms around her and holds her close.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm adding another chapter, the end of this fic got away from me ;) I hope you enjoyed! Let me know what you think!!


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't quit this one, apparently! One more after this chapter, I swear! Chapter 9 will be an epilogue.
> 
> Enjoy and please let me know what you think!

Curtis Holt sets a cup of hot coffee down in front of her, sliding it closer when she barely notices. He picks the mug up again, lifting it to her nose and wafting the scent. Felicity inhales, her eyes still on the screen and her fingers still tapping along the keyboard, but she groans.

“You’ve been at this for hours,” Curtis says. “If it weren’t for the blinking and breathing, I might be convinced that you’re a robot.”

“This guy’s a ghost,” Felicity mumbles, not sparing Curtis a glance. “A very smart, very terrifying ghost.”

“Anything new?” He asks, taking a seat at his own computer.

“Nope,” Felicity pops her P, “Nada, nothing, zilch. I know that things haven’t gone the way he wanted them to. You know, me still being alive and all. But it seems so bizarre. Who puts a tracking device in someone they plan on killing?”

“Maybe it was a precaution in case you got away,” Curtis shrugs. “A guy like this is all about control, and this is his first attack in nine years. He probably didn’t want to take any risks. Or...maybe the plan was always to let you get away from him that day. It’s possible that he planned on playing a little cat and mouse with you in the Holland Forest, but the FBI interfered before he could—well, you know, kill you.” Felicity shivers, thinking that she _had_ gotten away, and that creepy chip had really come in handy for him. She still isn’t in the clear, though.

Her eyes fall to the sketch that an artist had provided, based on Rene Ramirez’s memory.

There is something familiar about him. The man in the drawing.

Felicity feels like her vision of him is foggy, drugged from whatever he’d knocked her out with during her walk home from work that night. And hazy from when she’d been pulled out of the grave, disoriented while she ran from him. But as soon as Felicity saw the depiction that Rene provided, she had a knot in her stomach. One that isn’t going away.

“Sorry,” Curtis breathes, “I forget that you’re not an agent, honestly.” He purses his lips, looking like he’s debating something. “I’m sure that this is the last thing on your mind right now, but have you ever thought about working for the FBI? I could really use a co-worker. It’s kind of just me doing all the tech work around here right now.”

Blinking at him for a moment, Felicity shakes her head. “You’re right...really not something I’m thinking about at the moment.”

Pulling a face, Curtis nods, “yeah, of course, right, that makes sense. Uh, but if you ever _do_ think about it, I think you’d be incredible. I mean, you are incredible. “I’m just saying, you should let me know if it sounds like something you’d be interested in, I could put in a good word for you.” He huffs, “even though I doubt I’d need to. Oliver would probably hire you in a heartbeat. He really thinks you’re something special.”

Felicity stops typing long enough to look over at Curtis, who straightens his shoulders and gets back to work. She nods to herself, doing the same. Although it does make her wonder what Oliver Queen has been saying about her.

As if summoned, or maybe as if someone was listening outside the door and didn’t like his name being brought up, Oliver steps into the room, clearing his throat. He crosses his arms over his chest, his eyes swinging between her and Curtis Holt. Then he looks pointedly at his agent, “what do we have?”

“Right,” Curtis nods, standing up from his chair. “Well, Felicity took the sketch and ran it through this really cool program that gave us a more detailed version of our killer’s face. Then we used facial recognition to see if we could get any information.”

Oliver raises an eyebrow, looking at Felicity now. “Any luck?”

She sighs, shaking her head. “It picked him up, all right,” she explains, and Oliver comes around to stand behind her chair, looking at the screen. “I’ve gotten hits in Starling and Central City, and various places throughout the country. But it doesn’t matter.”

Felicity pulls up footage of the man they know as The Dollmaker from a gas station in Gotham, dated back two years ago. “Every surveillance camera that’s caught his face has been useless.”

Leaning over the shoulder, Oliver watches as the gray haired man’s eyes flicker up to the camera, completely unbothered. “He doesn’t seem to care about not being seen,” he mumbles.

“Mmm,” Felicity agrees. “That’s because everything he buys, he uses cash. Even with his face, this weirdo has no bank account, no family, no transactions, even the cars he drives are beaters with unregistered plates. I’ve checked dozens of them, he switches his transportation often and easily, and none of the cars I’ve tracked down have belonged to this man,” she sighs, pointing at the screen. Then she tosses her hands up, turning to look up at Oliver. “I think he’s been off the grid before he even started killing nine years ago. I have a feeling he’s been living like this, nomadically and hidden, for most of his adult life.”

Oliver turns his face from the screen to look down at her, one hand on the back of her chair and the other on the table beside her. His eyes move across her face, and she knows she probably looks like a sleep-deprived mess. Which is exactly what she is. Without a word, his eyes still on her, Oliver’s hand shifts to her shoulder. He simply rests it there, warm and strong, grounding her.

It’s surprising how much she needs it. How comforting such a simple touch could be. Felicity’s head falls to his shoulder, her eyes closing, before she can stop herself. Oliver freezes for a tiny moment, but then his grip tightens in assurance. His hand starts to move down her arm, rubbing up and down while he whispers, “we’ll find him.”

“When?” Felicity strains back, her chest tightening. “I’m going to have gray hair before we get to go on that date.”

She’s not sure why, but Felicity’s brain is very focused on Oliver’s promise to ask her out. Probably because it’s something to look forward to, after the smoke clears.

She also feels like her life is on a timer and she has no way of knowing when the sand will run out, which does nothing but drive her crazy. So distracting herself with first date and Oliver Queen thoughts is helpful.

It’s like a stopwatch began the moment she’d been kidnapped and wouldn’t end until The Dollmaker had her back. Felicity hates the feeling, and she knows that Oliver hates how anxious she is. To be fair, they would both be complete idiots if they thought that this was over. If they let themselves believe that she was safe.

“Curtis,” Oliver’s voice rumbles behind her, and Felicity bites her lip. She picks her head up from Oliver’s chest, turning a little red because apparently she is tired enough to forget that a whole other person is still in the room. “Could you please give me a moment with Felicity?”

“Sure, yes, of course,” the agent quickly moves to the door, making his exit.

“Ugh,” Felicity groans, “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have mentioned the date. I’m sure you could probably do without your team gossiping about you right now.”

He chuckles, letting go of her shoulder and sitting down beside her. “It’s okay,” he says gently, shaking his head. Oliver looks down at the untouched coffee. “I think you could use a break, though.” She pouts and he raises an eyebrow, “and I mean a few hours of sleep kind of break, not a two minutes to drink coffee kind of break.”

Her eyes narrow at the perceptive bastard. He’s used to being bossy. So is she.

If and when this all blows over...Felicity knows that whatever were to potentially happen between herself and one very handsome FBI agent...would be exciting. “Yes, sir.”

Fighting a smile, Oliver’s eyes darken slightly, just for a moment. “Are you feeling okay?”

“A little sore,” Felicity sighs, not bothering anymore to say ‘fine’ since Oliver never believes it anyway.

“Hm,” he answers, gesturing to the door. “I have some Ibuprofen in my office. And a very comfortable couch. Perfect for napping, trust me.”

She smiles, the stretch of her cheeks hurting a little bit due to her injuries. It is not lost on her that Oliver seems to be the only one capable of getting her to do that lately. Smile. And his eyes soften, like he knows it, too. She’s reminded of her mom’s words, back at the safe house last week. _Love can come in the most unexpected places._

“Just give me five more minutes,” she squints at him.

There are a couple more ideas she wants to try, and there’s no way she’ll be able to sleep until she exhausts them. “Then I promise I’ll nap. Maybe even eat. Drink water, possibly.”

Oliver huffs, shaking his head. “Now don’t go overboard...”

Smiling again, Felicity turns back to the screen while Oliver stands up. “Five minutes?” He checks, raising an eyebrow at her, and she knows he’ll hold her to it.

“Pinky swear,” she nods, holding her finger up.

He loops his pinky through hers, his thumb grazing her wrist. “Good,” Oliver answers, letting go and moving to the door. “See you in a bit.”

After he leaves, Felicity looks back at the computer in front of her.

She’d hardly been left alone since she came out of the Holland Forest. It feels strange, an air she notices as soon as the door closes behind Oliver.

Quickly shaking it off, Felicity gets to work on her first plan. She knows that The Dollmaker has to make his money somehow. And it’s easy enough to create a map that highlights each place she’d caught his presence across the country. As the dots begin to appear, Felicity watches, looking for any kind of pattern in his travel. Most of the dots are in Starling, but the FBI seems to think that he’s from the area, so it doesn’t mean much.

With her eyes on the map, searching, Felicity’s screen unexpectedly turns black. “Oh, frack,” she gasps, pulling her hands away from the keyboard as if she’d touched a wrong button. She glances down at the battery light, frowning when she sees that it’s full. Before she can dig any deeper into the problem, a shrill whistle sounds from the computer. The tune and the pitch of it are so familiar that it has Felicity pushing back in her chair, her skin crawling.

The same whistle she’d heard in the forest as her kidnapper unburied her. The same one he’d stalked her through the forest with, the haunting sound echoing off the trees.

Opening her mouth while her heart races and her body shivers, Felicity is just about to yell for Oliver when a small blue box appears on the screen.

Nothing but an address.

244 Highland Circle.

She knows the area, in the Glades. Felicity is pretty sure that Highland Circle is in the district where all the mills are.

Pulling out her phone, she plugs it into her GPS, confirming that yes, the creepy serial killer _had_ chosen to send her the address to an abandoned warehouse. _Of course_.

The whistle sounds again, making her cringe. And a new message flashes across the screen, another box blinking on top of the one with the address.

_Come alone._

* * *

It feels silly, but all Oliver really wants to do is go into his dark office and curl up with Felicity on that couch.

He’d suggested the nap out of concern for her, but it also made him realize how tired he is, too...and now he can’t stop thinking about wrapping Felicity up in his arms like he had in his bed the other night; listening to her soft, cute snores, feeling her cuddle into his chest with her nose on his neck, smelling the delicious scent of her shampoo as he drifted off to sleep. Like flowers and honey. Or raspberries. Maybe a little bit of mint. Definitely something sweet...

And he really needs to get a grip.

Getting distracted by what Felicity’s hair smells like is probably a terrible idea. Going into his office to take a nap with her? The worst idea. She needs to rest. He needs to get his head on straight and get some answers.

“I think I figured it out.”

Picking his head up from the files in front of him, Oliver glances up at the door to the conference room as John walks in. He drops a stack of files in front of Oliver, looking at him expectantly.

“Autopsy reports?”

“I told you that I could never figure out how The Dollmaker chose his victims.” Diggle answers, nodding towards the papers.

Raising an eyebrow, Oliver opens it, looking over a highlighted list of words. As he scans through them, he notices the pattern, the same ingredients found on each of the victims’ bodies. His eyes shift up to John, “what is this?”

“A skin cream. It’s the same formula found on _every_ victim. This,” Dig points to the files, “is how that psychopath decides who to kill.”

“How did you find the connection?” Oliver asks.

Dig sighs, “Felicity, actually. She was in here looking at the crime scene photos yesterday. She commented on the fact that all of the victims had ‘gorgeous skin,’ and then, you know, regretted the fact that she’d been jealous of women who weren’t even alive anymore. After about five minutes of babbling...she suggested I look into it. Felicity noticed that all of the victims had painted nails, waxed eyebrows, and good hygiene. All things that they maintained before The Dollmaker got a hold of them. I have to admit, I’m impressed. She thought that it might lead to a connection. I was just coming up to tell her that she was right.”

“She’s sleeping,” Oliver breathes, letting the information settle, pride swelling in his chest. Felicity Smoak is smart. Sometimes _too_ smart. And he’s proud. “We’ll have to ask her when she wakes up. I’m sure she can tell us where the product came from. That was good work, John. It gets us closer to catching this guy.”

Nodding, John’s jaw clenches. “We better catch him soon. All these women did to put targets on their backs was choose the wrong damn skin cream.”

The anger in John’s voice is evident. Oliver’s sure that after all these years of looking for the reason those women were killed, something as simple and unfair as their shopping and skincare habits is an infuriating answer.

But Oliver’s mind is only in one place. With one girl. “That means Felicity must use this stuff then, right?”

“That’d be my guess,” John shrugs. “Should we wake her up?”

Fidgeting, Oliver shakes his head. “No, it can wait. Let’s see if Curtis can find anything first.”

“What if The Dollmaker finds a new victim in the meantime?” John asks, shifting on his feet while Oliver wrings his hands together. Each of them growing more agitated, knowing that the man committing these crimes is not only smart, but unstable. A deadly combination that created the perfect storm nine years ago. And they both know it's only a matter of time until the skies break again.

“He’s been focused on Felicity since this started. He’s never lost a victim before, I don’t think he’ll look for a new one until…”

“Until she’s dead,” Dig finishes, his shoulders deflating.

Stated so bluntly, it’s hard not to let that irritating concern creep into his mind. Oliver was so focused on convincing everyone else that Felicity wouldn’t die, that it’s not until John says it that the weight of it settles on top of him. “He’ll want to see this through.”

There’s also not a chance in hell he’ll let it happen.The thought of anyone putting their hands on Felicity Smoak makes Oliver see red.

Thea is the only person he’s ever felt so viciously protective over, so to feel that adrenaline course through him, an unexpected wave of fury, takes him by surprise. Oliver’s not sure when his attraction to Felicity or the desire to keep her safe morphed into _I’d kill anyone who lays a finger on her_ , but it’s right there. Filling his tight chest. Impossible to deny.

As his eyes shift up to John, Oliver can see in the man’s unwavering gaze, that he knows it. His old mentor had always been able to see through him, and his temper. But unlike the calm, wise man Oliver knew nine years ago, John Diggle simply nods. Giving permission. _Do what you have to do. Let hell break loose if you have to._

Suddenly, the door swings open, and Curtis comes rushing in. “She’s gone,” He gasps, his chest heaving.

Oliver freezes. “Who?”

“Felicity. She’s not here.”

His back stiffens, “she’s in my office.” He can feel tension rising from his head to his toes, trying to stay calm as Curtis shakes his head, still catching his breath.

“I checked there,” the agent explains. “I checked everywhere. I even sent Sara into the ladies’ room to look for her. Felicity Smoak is gone.”

It takes Oliver less than five minutes to confirm that Curtis is right. Felicity only had clearance to their wing, and she isn’t on it. Within thirty minutes, she’d not only gotten out of a federal building, but the footage of every security camera between her and the exit had been scrubbed.

And she’s _gone_.

Shoving back into the holding room where he’d set up the computers for Felicity to work, Oliver curses while the metal door slams against the wall. He knows that John, Curtis, and Sara are hot on his heels, just as they had been while he tore through headquarters like a man possessed.

“Oliver,” Sara speaks, raising her hands. They all keep a safe distance, which is understandable...since he’s _fuming_.

“He did this,” Oliver growls through clenched teeth. “He has her.” His hands hook on his hips as he paces in front of the laptop. The chair she’d sat at, telling him that she’d have gray hair by the time he took her out on a date.

How could he have taken his eyes off of her? What was he _thinking_ letting her out of his sight?

“Oliver!” Sara tries again, her voice harsh now. “Your temper is not going to help us find her any faster. Calm the hell down!”

His eyes flare with anger as he glares at Sara. But to no one’s surprised, she rolls her eyes at him. Not threatened in the slightest.

“Guys…” Curtis mumbles, getting their attention while he sits down in front of Felicity’s computer. “I don’t think she was taken by The Dollmaker. I think Felicity walked out of here herself.”

“What?” Oliver snaps, abandoning his stare-down with Sara to hover over Curtis’ shoulder.

“She encrypted the laptop. It’s got her digital footprint,” he answers, shaking his head as his fingers start moving. “I mean, she practically danced all over this thing. It’d also explain how the security cameras got wiped. Only Felicity could manage to do that so fast.”

“Can you crack the encryption?” John asks, coming up to lean over Curtis’ other shoulder.

“Oh, yeah. I can get through this in ten minutes.”

From behind him, Oliver can feel Sara getting annoyed. “I thought Felicity was supposed to be a genius,” she huffs, “as far as plans go, this one seems incredibly stupid.”

Leveling her with a sharp look over his shoulder, telling her not to push it, Oliver turns back to Curtis. “I don’t understand,” he whispers, “why would she do that?”

“Felicity created this code. I’m going to crack it in a matter of minutes.”

“What’s your point?” Oliver grumbles, his patience growing thin even though he’s trying very hard to keep his cool.

Stretching his neck while he types, Curtis shrugs. “My point is that I shouldn’t be able to crack it at all. My guess...is that Felicity wanted me to hack in here. I’d even guess that she knows how long it’d take me to do it.” With another huffs, Curtis hits a few more buttons, his fingers quick and harsh against the keyboard.

And then a flashing blue box appears on the dark screen. Nothing but an address. “That’s where she went?” Sara frowns.

But this isn’t a game. Felicity isn’t leaving clues for them to play hide-and-seek. A knot settles in his stomach. “It’s where he wants her to go,” Oliver breathes.

“This must be the message Felicity saw that made her do all of this. She gave herself a head start…” John offers, “but she wants us to follow.”

As if on cue, a second message appears. _Come alone._

“Two minutes,” Oliver says lowly. All anger and fear drain out of him with the last instruction The Dollmaker had left for Felicity. She’d found this message from a serial killer and had decided to go. Alone. “Get ready. We leave in two minutes.”

A strange calm falls over him. It’s a specific feeling. One that he’s come to know very well. One that compartmentalizes all his other emotions so that the only thing left is his focus. Like there’s an indestructible line from point A to point B. From him to Felicity. It’s the only thing that matters. Getting to her and keeping her alive.

Yet, doubt still creeps in as he drives towards the Glades with Curtis. A gnawing sense that doesn’t quite feel right. Maybe it’s instinct, or maybe it’s the fact that he cares for Felicity Smoak. More than he should. But something has his fingers tapping nervously against the wheel. And he has to voice it.

“I have this feeling,” Oliver mumbles, glancing over to his agent. Curtis cocks his head to the side, but doesn’t speak. “This feels off.”

“Felicity wanted us to find the note…” Curtis frowns, “this is where she wants us to go...to follow, like John said.”

“I know, it’s just...” Oliver huffs, the wheels turning in his head as he thinks out loud. “The Dollmaker went through a lot of trouble to get Felicity back. Why would he send the address to her, right to FBI databases? He has to know that we’d find it eventually.”

“Well,” Curtis clears his throat, “I mean, I hate to say it, Mr. Queen but, uh, maybe he’s hoping she’ll...you know, be dead by then.”

“No…” his hands tighten on the wheel, “he’s calculated. He takes his time. He wouldn’t leave that up to risk. This killer doesn’t _hope_.”

“What do you think he’s doing then?”

“I think he’s setting a trap,” Oliver answers slowly, “not just for Felicity, but for us. I think...that he’s smart enough not to lead the feds right to him. But he’s compulsive enough that he needs to stick to his pattern.”

Curtis nods, “so what’s his pattern?”

In response, Oliver exhales, pulling out his phone and dialing John’s number as he quickly turns the car around. Dig answers on the second right, “Sara and I are just getting to the mills. We’ll be there in three minutes. How far out are you?”

“I don’t think Felicity is there,” Oliver clips, accelerating the car. “The Dollmaker is playing games. It’s always been a game, and we’re walking right into it. I want you two to sweep the building and call me if you find anything, and _be careful_. Curtis and I are turning around. I think he took Felicity somewhere else.”

“Where?” John and Curtis both ask.

“Where it started,” Oliver grumbles, “he took her back where he meant for her to die all along.”

The Holland Forest is still fifteen minutes away, and Oliver has a sense of deja-vu as he races towards it, praying that he can make it there in time again. That he can save her.

* * *

A killer headache.

It’s the first thing Felicity is able to process as she comes to. Her head is pounding, but the cool breeze helps a little. Just for a moment...because then it makes her shiver.

Felicity opens her eyes, blinking at the scenery, the darkened trees casting bizarre yet familiar shadows in the light of dusk. She tries to move her hands, only to realize that her arms and legs are strapped to a cold, hard metal surface behind her back. Felicity groans, pulling a little harder. As her senses return, she can hear the whistling.

The whistling that had terrified her, haunted her like the cold dark grave he’d been digging her out of when she’d first heard it.

Since it’s still so fresh in her mind, Felicity recognizes the voice instantly. The same man. The Dollmaker. He’s somewhere behind her, doing god knows what. Felicity strains against the straps again, trying to turn to look, to see what he’s doing.

The last thing she remembers is getting the address on that laptop. But she’d never gone to the building. She’d gotten his message and followed the order, foolishly thinking that she could meet the Dollmaker alone and set the FBI up to come after her. All Felicity thought she had to do was survive long enough for them to find her in that warehouse. She hadn’t been expecting to be ambushed before she even made it to the bus.

“Oh good, you’re up,” his voice is higher than most men, a hint of a whisper that gives her the creeps. “We should get started. I don’t have as much time as I’d hoped, and I need to make sure you’re perfect.”

Her body stiffens, his meaning settling over her with weight. He intends to turn her into a doll, kill her and leave her staged like those crime scene photos she’d poured over. The idea that it’d be Oliver...that he’d be the one to find her like that, breaks her heart and pisses her off at the same time. With her temper flaring, Felicity grits out “that’s assuming you’ll be the one walking out of here alive. Don’t be so sure.”

In reality, he’s the one who has done this thirteen times before. And she’s the one strapped to a table waiting to be killed in the most disturbing manner. As far as odds go… She’s not sure where the confidence in her threat is coming from, but she means it.

Felicity’s eyes shift to the ground, noticing that she’s a couple of feet above it. She tests the strength of her leg restraints, thinking that she has a better shot of breaking those first.

“I admire your strength, Ms. Smoak,” he speaks, and Felicity can hear him stepping closer. “But you must understand...this started with you, and so it must end with you.”

Fear settles into her bones, his voice mere inches behind her ear.

The Dollmaker steps into view. An older, gray haired man with glasses. He looks innocent enough, simple and forgettable. If she didn’t know any better. “Hello there, darling.”


	8. Chapter 8

“Come on, stay with me,” Oliver mumbles, his eyes darting from the path he’s blazing through the trees, down to Felicity as he hoists her closer, careful not to lose his pace or hold on her.

“Felicity,” he tries again when he sees her eyes fluttering shut, her head nestled on his chest. The forest is dense and full of obstacles like hidden roots and wet leaves, but he lets his body take over, instinct driving him faster as he runs for the road, his brain focusing on getting her out. “Hey,” Oliver shakes her a bit, “eyes on me, honey. On me...come on. _Look at me_ , Felicity.”

Thankfully, she listens, struggling to keep her gaze on his face, her lids looking heavy with a desire to sleep. Oliver glances back down at her, “good, that’s it. Talk to me. Tell me what you remember. Tell me anything, just keep those beautiful eyes up here, okay?”

“Sedative,” she chokes out, her fist tightening on his jacket. “Oliver…it’s just a sedative.”

“Are you sure?” He asks sharply, his adrenaline soaring, terrified because the man he’d left bleeding on the ground about a mile back in the woods had offered no explanation as to what was in the syringe he’d been using to dose Felicity.

Oliver has studied all of John’s files on the Dollmaker. He knows that in each case, cause of death was suffocation due to the polymer the killer would pour down his victims' throats, meant to preserve their life-like look until the police could find them.

Shivering, Oliver tightens his arms around Felicity, continuing to check on her every few seconds as he runs, the road getting closer. But her weight grows heavier, her body losing its energy, limbs going limp, her hand slipping from his chest.

“He told me…” she sighs, her eyes fluttering, fighting so hard to stay conscious.

A tranquilizer would make sense, from a serial killer’s perspective, of course. In order to keep his victims calm and motionless while they died, while their bodies endured excruciating pain and their blood coagulated. Their muscles needed to be relaxed for that. And it wouldn’t be unheard of to use some kind of drug that didn’t come back on toxicology reports.

Logically, Oliver knows all of this.

He knows that it is probably a simple narcotic coursing through Felicity’s bloodstream. That’s all. One that the Dollmaker could be familiar with but hadn’t shown up in the autopsies. Apparently the killer had even told Felicity it was a sedative.

But what if it’s not?

Just the possibility pushes Oliver to keep moving. He can tell that as hard as she’s trying, her body can’t fight the inevitable. So when her eyes close, Oliver doesn’t force her awake. Instead, he runs a little bit faster.

About half way through the trek, John and Sara catch up to him, each of them panting as they run toward him. “Is she okay!?” Sara yells before they even reach him.

“I don’t know,” Oliver breathes back, not slowing down. “He drugged her, I need to get her out of here.”

John reaches Oliver first, changing direction to move with him, “where is he?”

“Less than a mile east,” Oliver responds, “I cuffed him to a tree... Dig, I shot him. Right shoulder. He should still be alive, but he’ll need medical attention.”

Stalling for a moment, John gives his head a single nod, a look passing between them where it’s clear that neither of them necessarily _want_ the psychotic murderer to survive. But if they’re going to pin a nameless man for all of those crimes, then he needs to be alive for a confession. Turning back, John gestures for Sara, “let’s bring that son of a bitch in once and for all,”

With that, Oliver spares them a glance over his shoulder, making sure they’re heading in the right direction, before he focuses back on Felicity. And he’s surprised to see a slight smile on her lips. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” she sighs, her eyes still shut. But her hand lifts weakly to cup his cheek. “I’m not sorry that you shot him.” She says, giving her head a curt nod. Oliver huffs, tilting his chin to press a kiss against her wrist, letting her know that he agrees. “I’m not sorry for any of it, Oliver...me and you.”

Oliver lets out a sharp breath, his grip tightening around her. As much as the words make his heart skip a beat, it also sets his stomach in knots. Why she would feel like it needs to be said right there and now. “Tell me about _that_ when you’re better,” he breathes.

Felicity hums, “tired…”

“I know,” he whispers back, seeing the first glint of light from the cruisers up ahead. “We’re almost out of this. Just stay with me,” he pants back, his breath ragged. “Almost there, honey.”

And Oliver has a strange sense of deja vu as he nears the road, as he sees the red and blue lights flashing through the trees. He’s moving in the exact same place he had once before, carrying the same girl, running from the same lunatic. But this time, he’s not nearly as calm or as focused. This time, she isn’t latching on to him for comfort and warming his heart. This time, he feels _terrified_ to lose her.

And this time, he knows that he’s falling in love with Felicity Smoak.

The moment he reaches the treeline, he’s surrounded by paramedics. Two of them take Felicity from his arms, while another drapes a blanket over her, and another gets started on checking her blood pressure and heart rate. He follows after them, his adrenaline quickly fading the moment her weight is lifted from his arms.

He knows that he should be barking orders, telling the waiting agents what to do. But he feels more like a shell-shocked civilian than the director of the FBI. All he can think about is Felicity, watching as they put her into the ambulance.

And she looks so pale. Tiny and unconscious and surrounded by strangers who don’t know her like he does.

Donna Smoak isn’t there to hold her hand or protect her. Ophie isn’t there to curl up at her feet in silent solidarity and comfort. He has responsibilities, he knows. But she's all alone.

“Wait!” Oliver calls after EMT's, pushing through the bodies until he reaches the ambulance. Then he climbs in.

Someone needs to stay with Felicity, and he instantly decides that he’ll make no apologies for being that person. For being there with her.

The paramedics working on Felicity pause for the slightest moment as he sits beside her, giving him strange looks to which he simply raises his eyebrows.

As they drive to the hospital, Oliver keeps his hand firmly in hers, knowing that he needs it for himself as much as he hopes it comforts Felicity.

He has no idea what they’re doing to her as the ambulance rushes towards the hospital, but the medics are confident that her vitals are strong and that she’s only under a mild sedative.

With the words, comes relief. And with relief, comes fatigue. By the time they reach the hospital, Oliver feels the full effects of his adrenaline decline. His legs are shot from the run through the Holland Forest, his head light and a little disoriented, and he finally feels his heart hammering in his chest while he watches the EMT’s wheel Felicity through the emergency doors, away from him.

They close behind them, leaving him standing outside of the hospital on the sidewalk. There are plenty of decisions he’d made that night that could probably cost him his job. Or at least a demotion. And in his logical sense, he knows that his next step should be to get in a cab and go back to FBI headquarters. To deal with the fallout of chasing after the Dollmaker without backup, shooting him after finding the asshole drugging Felicity while he had her strapped to a table, and then leaving him cuffed and bleeding. But his Felicity sense is stronger. So he walks through the doors to wait.

Diggle calls as soon as he sits down in the waiting room. “Do you have him?” Oliver asks lowly instead of a greeting.

“We do,” he hears John sigh. “You coming back here to question him?”

“Not yet. Just hold him until I get there.”

“Oliver…We need to interrogate this guy and make sure he’s behind the murders from—”

“Hold him,” Oliver says sternly.

“Felicity is going to be fine.”

“I know,” Oliver interrupts to stop John’s further arguments. “I’m not just saying this for Felicity. The Dollmaker has been waiting for this moment. He didn’t go through all of that work not to get recognition someday, John. He sees those bodies and what he did as art. He wants the credit. If we want him to talk, we need to make him wait. We need to make him feel unimportant, or else he'll think he has the upper hand. I’ll be in as soon as Felicity wakes up.”

John sighs, clearly disagreeing with Oliver’s strategy, eager to get into a room with the Dollmaker and put all of his unsolved questions to bed. John had been haunted by demons wrapped around the Dollmaker case for nearly a decade, and Oliver understands why he’s itching to get in there. But it isn’t his call, and if there is anything Oliver has been thinking clearly about since Felicity went missing, it’s this. They need to make the Dollmaker sweat, take some of his precious control away before they’ll be able to get anything out of him.

The conversation is less than five minutes before John grumbles his goodbye and hangs up.

After that, it doesn’t take Donna Smoak long to show up in the waiting room, her warm hugs and open kindness an appreciated gesture. “Is my baby okay?” She asks.

“She’s just fine,” Oliver puts on a smile for her. “Sleeping. I’m sure they’ll let you see her right away.”

Donna nods, quickly turning towards the nurses’ station. He sits back down while she gets Felicity’s room number and an update on her condition, which Oliver shamelessly eavesdrops on. The nurse says that Felicity should be waking up any minute, and he closes his eyes, letting out a deep breath and knowing in his gut that the worst is over.

Finally over.

Felicity is safe. And not just for now, but for good.

“Oliver,” Donna calls for him, and he opens his eyes to look at her. She waves her hand, “you coming?”

He bites his lip, nodding without question and following after her.

The hospital room is dark and quiet besides the beeps from the monitors they have Felicity hooked up to. Seeing her, Oliver feels incredibly thankful that Donna let him come.

She looks peaceful; the color back in her cheeks, her skin warmer, her lips their rightful pink. And he stays frozen against the door, just taking her in while Donna sits beside her daughter’s bed, mumbling words of encouragement and pride.

With tears in her eyes and a smile on her face, Donna glances back at him, “get over here,” she laughs, patting the bed by Felicity’s feet. He inhales, wondering why that cramped hospital room feels more like his home than anywhere he’d ever been before. Slowly, he sits on the edge of Felicity’s bed, reaching out and squeezing Donna’s hand where she’s clutching onto Felicity’s. Then he carefully places his palm on Felicity’s calf, rubbing his thumb over the blanket.

“I’m sure my girl will tell you this when she wakes up, but it doesn’t ever hurt to hear it twice,” Donna says quietly, her eyes on Oliver’s hand, “thank you. I can’t tell you how much it’s meant to both of us. Everything you’ve done for her.”

He swallows, shifting his gaze from Felicity to Donna. “I should have done more for her, been more— _professional_ ,” he breathes, surprised at himself that he’s saying it out loud. To her mother, no less. “She might not have ended up here if I’d made different decisions…”

“Mm,” Donna frowns, narrowing her eyes at him. “‘What If’ is a dangerous game to play, Oliver. And not worth your time.” She shrugs, “maybe you _not_ treating Felicity like the victim of a serial killer’s attention...is what saved her life. The point is that she’s here. You made sure of that, and I’m so grateful.”

Oliver’s hand tightens on Felicity’s leg, his eyes landing back on her sleeping face, “she’s going to be okay,” he whispers, relaxing with Donna’s approval. And maybe that was why he mentioned it to her in the first place. The Smoak women seem to have a way of making him feel understood. Accepted.

And he suddenly can’t wait for Felicity to open her eyes again.

* * *

He’s assessing her. Taking in her every move.

Felicity purses her lips, knowing he should be more focused on the serial killer on the other side of the glass, waiting to be interrogated.

“This was a bad idea,” Oliver mumbles, making John scoff in agreement from across the room.

“She’s fine,” Sara Lance’s voice weighs in, the woman leaning with her hand on the doorknob of their little viewing room. “Let her be.”

At that, Oliver gives the woman a quick, sharp look that's all disapproval and irritation. But Felicity looks at Sara, hoping the look of appreciation is understood. Then she glances at Oliver, squeezing his hand in assurance. “I’m fine here,” Felicity whispers just for him. “I need answers.”

“The nurse said you need to rest, Felicity. Your mom thinks you’re taking a nap. The last thing you need right now is the stress of sitting here staring at that lunatic.” He huffs, “I shouldn’t have agreed to this.”

In all honesty, she hadn't expected him to. Once she woke up at the hospital, with Oliver and her mom at her side, he explained what was happening. And Felicity had asked him if she could come back to headquarters with him, not expecting him to agree and not even sure if she wanted to. But now that she's here, she can't leave. She needs to see this through. See an end to the nightmare so she can finally wake up from it.

“Oliver, please,” Felicity grabs his fingers harder, “I’m just going to watch. I need to know why he did this. You said he found the other victims through some European face cream.” Felicity shakes her head, and Oliver sighs, running a hand over his mouth. She’d already told him back at the hospital that she didn’t use whatever skin cream he’d been rambling about.

He’d tried to explain that the Dollmaker had probably changed his M.O. for whatever reason, using plenty of FBI agent analysis jargon she didn't care to even try to understand. The creep’s words were still stuck in her head, along with a knowing, awful feeling in her stomach that told her this was about so much more than skin cream...what he’d said to her in the Holland Forest before he’d shoved a tube down her throat and tried to turn her into a doll.

_But you must understand...this started with you, and so it must end with you._

“I can handle this,” she promises, holding Oliver’s gaze. She has to know why. Why the Dollmaker had done this. Why he needed to try killing again when he’d already gotten away with murder nine years ago. And why _she_ was the unlucky one he’d chosen.

Oliver lets out a deep breath, standing up and looking at John and Sara. “Keep an eye on her,” he orders lowly before leaving the room. A moment later, she sees the door to the Dollmaker’s interrogation room swing open, and Oliver walks through. He doesn’t look at him, but the Dollmaker’s eyes track Oliver as he sets his file down on the metal table, slowly pulls out the chair across from him, and takes a seat.

Only then does Oliver look up, and even to Felicity’s hyper-tuned Oliver senses, he looks bored. Like a ragged cop who wished to be anywhere else rather than the man who had just spent sleepless weeks trying to protect her. “How’s the shoulder?” Oliver asks, nodding his head toward the bandage, the wound he’d inflicted when he’d shot the Dollmaker back in the forest, stopping him from drowning her with the polymer.

When he doesn’t reply, Oliver leans forward, keeping his eyes locked on the handcuffed man in front of him. “Let’s start with the basics,” Oliver suggests. “You’re obviously going to jail for a very long time. We’ll find out who you are eventually. Would you rather introduce yourself?”

The man’s lip twitches, “no need for introductions, Mr. Queen. _I_ already know who _you_ are. I know Felicity cares for you, and I must admit...that wasn’t something I predicted. You going above and beyond to protect her. She’d be mine by now if it weren’t for you.” The man speaks coldly, but Oliver freezes, knowing that by ‘mine’ the Dollmaker means ‘dead’. “It does make me curious about you, though. Hm,” he cocks his head to the side, studying Oliver. “She is quite fond of you, isn’t she?”

Not missing a beat, Oliver shrugs it off. He leans back in his chair, “you want to talk about Felicity Smoak?” He asks, raising an eyebrow. “Let’s talk about her. We know how you chose your other victims. But why Felicity?”

The Dollmaker smiles, putting his cuffed hands on the table, “that’s an answer I can only give to Felicity. As is most of what I expect you’ll ask me. Let me talk to her alone, and you’ll get all the answers you’re looking for, Mr. Queen.”

“That’s not going to happen.” He shakes his head, unable to stop his hand from clenching around his pen. The Dollmaker pauses, his eyes dropping to Oliver’s tight fist. He smirks, perceptive and psychotic as he is. “Why don’t you just tell me about the thirteen other women you killed?”

He frowns, looking back up at Oliver. “Thirteen...” the Dollmaker sighs, “I always forget that’s all I left behind for you to appreciate.”

Oliver’s back stiffens, but he’s careful not to react, knowing how intently the man across from him is watching, how any indication that he’s affecting him is game over. “Are you saying you murdered other women?”

“Well,” the killer shrugs nonchalantly, “every artist has work he isn’t proud of. My first attempts were no masterpieces. I couldn’t share them with the world, now could I? I truly thought Detective Diggle would’ve realized the skin cream link sooner. Actually I was hoping he would.” The man shakes his head sadly, “I was quite disappointed that he didn’t see it sooner.”

If this were a common criminal, or even a common serial killer, Oliver might have played along for a while, allowed the guy to let down his walls a bit. But he is not in the head space for that.

“Where are they?” He demands instead.

“You let me talk to _her_ ,” the Dollmaker says slowly, looking at Oliver from behind his glasses. “I’ll tell you where the other dolls are.”

* * *

Felicity watches through the glass as Oliver interrogates The Dollmaker. Surprisingly, she’s more focused on Oliver than the creep. He sits perfectly relaxed, professional, looking like an FBI agent who is just there to do his job, waiting to get the whole thing over with so he can get out of there.

Until the Dollmaker suggests that he’s killed more women than the thirteen the FBI knew about. Only then does Oliver’s mask falter for a moment. And she can’t blame him. She freezes. Sara Lance gasps from behind her. All followed by a string of mumbled curses from John Diggle. Because holy bomb drop.

She holds her breath as she watches rage creep into Oliver’s eyes. It takes over his body, but only in an inward sense. She can feel it through the glass, the energy of it terrifying. Yet on the outside, Oliver simply blinks. “Where are they?” He asks lowly.

If Felicity were in the Dollmaker’s shoes, she’d be singing like a canary. Oliver isn’t getting in the Dollmaker’s face or trying to scare him, but the promise of a threat is there. Oliver wants answers, and even through the thick glass, she feels convinced that he might kill the man if he doesn’t get one.

“You let me talk to _her_ , I’ll tell you where the other dolls are.”

 _Dolls_.

Felicity shivers, never feeling more disgusted in her life.

“Not a chance in hell,” Oliver growls, leaning closer. “You tell me where the other women are, and I’ll make sure your cell at Slabside has a window. That’s the only deal I’m willing to make with you. Not that you deserve even that.”

The man shakes his head. “I see her, you get the answers. I’m sure there are some families who would like closure, Mr. Queen. Is your infatuation with Felicity Smoak really worth more than their peace of mind?” He cocks his head to the side, “let me see her one more time, or I won’t say another word.”

“You’re a sick son of a bitch,” Oliver grits out, his fists clenching. To that, the Dollmaker simply raises an eyebrow.

They stare each other down for a long moment, anger pouring out of Oliver’s cold eyes while he’s met with indifference across the table. “I’m done talking to you,” the older man finally speaks. “From now on I’ll only talk to Felicity.”

Felicity could see the tension coiling in Oliver’s back. He shrugs, standing up from the table and looking down on the man while he shoves his hands into his pockets. “You’re going to rot in prison for the rest of your life. I’ll make sure of it…” Oliver promises lowly, his voice threatening, “I wouldn’t get too used to making demands. The inmates there aren’t exactly gentle with spineless cowards like you.”

To Felicity’s surprise, the Dollmaker’s face flashes with anger as soon as Oliver turns his back. And she swears there’s fear behind his eyes as well. It’s clear that prison was never in the serial killer’s plans. She doubts that many criminals ever really plan on getting caught and locked up. But for this man, it’s especially terrifying.

Control means everything to him. That’s one thing about her kidnapper that’s obvious. The man needs to have dominance over his own life and the women he’d killed. Prison will force him to lose that careful, obsessive control.

Her eyes remain on Oliver until he’s out of the interview room, and then she turns her gaze to the door of the viewing room and waits for him to enter.

When he does, he looks much less put together than he did a moment ago. Oliver’s eyes are a little wilder, and he lets out a deep breath, zeroing in on her first, then the others. Oliver lets the door close behind him, stepping towards the window to observe the Dollmaker. “We’ll break him down,” he tells them quietly. “Maybe not today or tomorrow. But he’ll tell us those names. Prison is going to strip him of his own inflated sense of self, break him down, and then he’ll talk.”

Oliver looks at Felicity with expectant eyes, like he knows what she’ll say, but warning her not to say it. “I want to talk to him,” she says it anyway.

“No.”

“Oliver.”

“ _No_ , Felicity. A few days in a padded cell, and he’ll agree to any terms I offer. I _promise_ you. You don’t have to do this.”

“I _want_ to talk to him.” Felicity insists, stepping closer to Oliver, her eyes getting distracted by the Dollmaker. She tilts her head, glancing at the killer on the other side of the glass with her hands on Oliver’s forearms. The man is staring at the glass, seemingly right at her, as if he can see through it...and he gives a low, familiar whistle.

She shivers.

Shaking his head, Oliver moves his body, guiding her away from the glass and strategically adjusting her frame, blocking her view so that she can’t see the terrifying man just a room away. He stares down at her. Ignoring John and Sara’s presence, Oliver brings his finger to Felicity’s cheek, ghosting it over a cut. “Why?” He asks softly, his eyes trained on hers. “Felicity…haven’t you been through enough?”

“You heard him. One conversation with me and he’ll talk.”

“I don’t need him to talk.” Oliver sighs, bringing his fingers to his own temples, getting frustrated. “There are other ways that don’t involve you sitting down to chat with the deranged man that just tried to _kill_ you. Can you understand how insane that idea is? Not only insane, but it'd be breaking at least half the rules I'm meant to enforce?”

“I need to do it, Oliver. If anything good is going to come of this, it’ll be getting those names and putting those unsolved cases to bed. Let me make that happen. Let me help finish this.”

Oliver purses his lips, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder while his eyes clearly tell her what his mouth is about to say. “No, Felicity. It’s not a good idea. I’m sorry, I can see that this is important to you.” He straightens his shoulders, “but I’m not catering to a serial killer, especially not if _you’re_ the bargaining chip. It’s _my_ call...and I’m saying no. Okay?”

Her eyes slip shut, shaking her head slightly as she steps away from him. “I need some air,” Felicity mutters, glancing at John and Sara, in the corner pretending that the Dollmaker tapping his cuffs against the metal table is far more fascinating than the disagreement with Oliver she knows they both heard.

“Hey,” Oliver catches her arm when she steps towards the door. He searches her eyes, his expression concerned and apologetic.

Felicity sighs, crossing her arms, nudging his hand off. “Am I under arrest or something?” She snaps, “I’m allowed to leave, aren’t I, Oliver?”

“Of course you are,” he mumbles, his eyes pleading with her to understand.

“Great,” she snarks.

“Wait,” it’s Sara who stops her now. “I’ll come with you.”

Felicity wants to argue; she wants to be alone, she wants to pout, and she doesn’t want a babysitter. But she also doesn’t have the energy to fight. “Whatever,”

Pushing through the door with Sara on her heels, Felicity ignores the woman, heading straight for the exit.

Sara catches her arm halfway down the hall, “slow down there, speedy,” she huffs, turning Felicity around.

“I said you could come,” Felicity grumbles, “not that we’d have a heart to heart. Let go.”

“I’m not looking to share our feelings and cry on each other's shoulders, Ms. Smoak,” Sara raises an eyebrow, dropping her hand. “But I do agree with you. The fastest and easiest way for us to get this son of a bitch on death row is to let him open up to you. He clearly has a fascination, and I’d be willing to bet you can keep him talking. He’ll confess. And a confession is a kiss of death. Do you want to see that bastard fry, or what?”

As Felicity stares at her skeptically, Sara gestures to the door where the Dollmaker is waiting. “I’ll stay with you the whole time. And Oliver will get over it.”

Holding her breath, Felicity nods and strides towards the door.

* * *

“She hates me,” Oliver groans, running his hand over his face as soon as the door closes behind Felicity and Sara.

Dig chuckles, keeping his eyes on the Dollmaker. “She’s scared. And hurt. And confused. She doesn’t hate you. She just needs answers.”

“And we’ll get them.”

“ _She_ needs to get them, Oliver. For herself. Felicity needs closure.”

Oliver levels him with a sharp look. “Please don’t tell me you agree that the lunatic should ever get to lay eyes on her again.”

Putting his hands up, John shrugs. “All I’m saying is that your reaction here tells me your opinion on the subject is more personal than it should be. And maybe that means you’re not in the best position to make it.”

“So you _do_ think we should put her in there?”

“Honestly?” Diggle sighs, “hell no. _I_ think the woman has been through enough. And _I_ think she’s not thinking clearly if she really wants to put herself in front of him again. I also think that underneath all the stonewalling,” he nods his head at the Dollmaker, “that man is shitting himself at the idea of prison. He’s been a ghost this whole time. Living without any restriction from society or the government. He never anticipated us catching him. I think he’s more afraid than he looks. And I truly don't anticipate him being hard to crack.”

Oliver sighs, thankful that at least _someone_ sees things his way. Although Diggle did have a fair point. Most of the reason Oliver shut down the idea was to protect Felicity.

He opens his mouth to reply, but the door to the Dollmaker’s holding room creaks open, distracting him.

His eyebrows furrow as Sara pokes her head in, looking towards the window quickly before narrowing her eyes at the Dollmaker.

And then she’s pulling Felicity through the doorway by the hand.

“Hello there, darling.” The killer sighs in relief at the sight of her.

“Shit!” Oliver hisses. He lunges towards the door, racing into the hallway, but by the time his hand is on the other doorknob, Sara’s already locked it behind them. “Oh,” his blood boils. “I’ll have your badge for this, Lance.” He grits through his teeth even though he knows Sara can’t hear him.

John sticks his head out of the viewing room, waving him in from the hall with wide eyes. “You’re probably going to want to see this.”

Oliver quickly moves back to the window, watching as Felicity hesitantly sits down in the chair he’d occupied just a few minutes before. The Dollmaker watches her every move as he brings his shackled hands up on top of the metal table, winding his fingers together. It makes Oliver think some very, very violent thoughts.

“I’m here…” Felicity starts, her words barely audible. And she’s shaking like a leaf. “Now you need to tell the FBI where the other women are. What you did to them.”

“I will,” the man shrugs, “but I asked to speak to you for your sake, Felicity. I’ll be honest with you…you were not meant to survive my plans. And now I imagine that you have questions, things you may want to say.”

“Why do you care about any of that?” She breathes.

“I care about all of my dolls, darling...” he smiles at her, his hands sliding across the table.

Felicity shakes her head, shrinking away from him. “I am _not_ yours,” she whispers.

Before the man can respond, Sara slams her palm against his outstretched hands, crushing his fingers to the table on their path towards Felicity. “Do that again and I’ll snap you like a twig,” she growls.

Gasping, the killer draws his hands back, looking more afraid of Sara than he had of Oliver. If he’d known physical assault was the key to spooking the guy...

“You said something…” Felicity whispers, “earlier...in the woods. What did you mean?”

The Dollmaker cocks his head to the side as if he’s not sure what she’s referring to. And Felicity narrows her eyes as if she sees right through him.

Holding his breath, Oliver steps closer, his eyes on Felicity. At the very least, he’s grateful that Sara is doing the opposite, her glare fixated on the killer like a silent warning that if he makes one wrong move, she’ll crush him.

“You said this all started with me, so it would end with me. What does that mean?”

There’s a long silence. And as a few minutes tick by, Oliver’s patience begins to dwindle. He paces, and Felicity’s eyes flicker to the glass as if she can sense it. Finally, the Dollmaker quits all the staring and speaks.

“I first saw you when you were sixteen years old.”

Felicity freezes, his words clearly the last thing she expected. And Oliver stops in front of the glass. Sara freezes, too. As does John. “What?”

“I was at MIT for a conference. And I had some time to kill before a meeting,” the man explains lowly. “I wandered into a lecture hall and ended up listening to your presentation on cyber crime and national security in modern society.” He shakes his head fondly, “I thought you were brilliant.”

Oliver can see Felicity’s hands shaking, not wanting to blink as he speaks about her as if he is an old friend.

“I knew I had to have you. But you were so young, and I had never worked with human flesh before.”

“Oh my god,” Felicity leans back, her face paling.

“The other dolls were beautiful, but I was still young, too. I needed to master it before I dared to touch you. This...has always been about you, Felicity. Waiting for you.”

It sinks with a heavy knot in his stomach that Felicity's attack had been a long time coming. Nine years. He’d seen her _nine years_ ago, and she’d unknowingly inspired one of the most twisted serial killers the FBI has ever encountered. Simply by existing. She’d done nothing but _exist_ , as a brilliant college student in front of a sick, terrifying man. She had caught his attention, and so he manipulated her existence into something sinister, something so far from her and who she is, using it as an excuse to become the killer he is.

“You murdered all those women…”

“Practice,” he smiles, “so that I would know, when it was finally time to create _you_ , that I could capture all of the life and beauty I saw in you that day without making a mistake. That’s what I meant by what I said in the Holland Forest. You made me who I am, Felicity. You were the only doll I have ever fallen in love with. And it has never been my intention to create another after you. You were always meant to be my last.”

“You’re crazy,” Felicity breathes.

“Most artists are,” he shrugs, unbothered. “But I had to have you.”

“It must hurt,” Felicity whispers, leaning away from him. “To waste all that time...living in your delusions about those shameful, revolting, unthinkable terrors you committed...and not get what you want in the end... You don’t have me. I am not yours. And you have to live the rest of your pathetic life, knowing that I _never_ will be.”

The Dollmaker’s smile falters, his eyes darkening.

Oliver’s breath catches the moment Felicity sees that she’s getting under the killer’s skin. She’s gaining an upper hand on him, shattering whatever fantasy he’d built around her being a lifeless, voiceless thing for him to admire. And Felicity smiles, ever so slightly. There’s relief in her eyes, acceptance in her now-steady hands, and closure in the tiny twitch of her lips. “Who were the other girls?” She asks again. “The ones the police didn’t find?”

“You know,” he sighs, “I can’t take all the credit for my work. You were my muse, Felicity. My masterpieces are yours as they are mine.”

Felicity shakes her head, her lip curling in disgust. “A disturbed man’s obsession with a sixteen year old is not a burden I’ll carry. You’re sick, and you created a delusion of me. That is _not_ my fault.” She speaks so strongly, so sure of herself, knowing that she’d done nothing wrong. And he feels incredibly proud of her in that moment.

“What you did to those women,” Felicity continues, holding her kidnapper’s gaze. “How you hurt them...those evils are yours, and _only_ yours. You are the one who has to live with that. Pay for it." She sighs, "I think I have what I came for... I’ll let you rot in a cell until you give Oliver the names, if there are any.” Felicity shrugs.

Standing up, Felicity quickly moves to the door, ignoring the man’s orders to sit back down. “Don’t you dare walk away from me!” He snaps when she opens the door.

Turning to glare at him, Felicity’s hatred is evident. “You have no control over me anymore.”

* * *

As soon as she steps into the hall, Oliver’s there, wrapping his arms around her. She buries her head in his chest, hearing The Dollmaker continuing to scream for her, demand that she “come back here!” through the door. His cries are followed by Sara’s sharp, threatening voice, but it does nothing to calm him down.

Felicity shivers, listening to the man’s once controlled, low and hollow voice as he screams his head off, losing his damn mind as if he knows that with that door closing, she will never see him again.

And that’s what Oliver mumbles in her ear, ignoring the attention the whole scene is garnering from agents in the hall. He presses his lips to her ear, “come here." And she feels so relieved that he’s not yelling at her too, for not listening when he clearly told her to stay in the observation room. Although being angry at her for it would be cruel at this point. And Oliver Queen was anything but cruel.

He guides her gently down the hall, one arm around her shoulders and the other holding both of her hands, swallowing hers in his massive, grounding grip. Felicity keeps her eyes closed, letting him lead while she listens to his words and focuses on her breaths, ignoring the Dollmaker’s fading, desperate shouting and the onlookers.

She feels him nudge her into a room, hears him close the door behind them, and all the sound is gone.

When she opens her eyes, they’re in his office, the lights still off. And Oliver’s breath is ragged, his eyes dark. “Are you okay?” He croaks.

Felicity swallows, nodding slowly. “I’m sorry—”

He cuts her off with a shake of his head. “Tell me, Felicity. Please.”

“I’m okay,” she whispers. He sighs with the words, closing his eyes for a moment. “And I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” he purses his lips, and she knows that it’s not. He wishes she hadn’t done it, but he’s also going to let it go. “ _You’re_ okay.”

Felicity stares at him for a long moment, surprised by the unfiltered relief washing over him. It sparks her own. She never has to look the Dollmaker in the eye again. No one else is ever going to be hurt by him. Yet, of course, there is a lot left for her to process. Looking into therapists is at the top of her list.

But even through all of the madness, one thing remains.

Oliver.

His concern for her safety ever since the moment she’d heard his voice. He hadn’t wavered. He’d been there for her since the very first moment. Oliver had bent a few rules for her, let her into his home and maybe even his heart. Nothing had made her feel more comforted than him. It was probably crazy, but so was the ordeal she’d just been through.

It’s still all over him. That concern. He was worried about _her_ , not just catching a criminal. And realizing it feels like such a _duh_ moment for her. It’d been there the entire time. Everything he’d done, every decision he’d made, was with her in mind.

“Thank you for everything,” Felicity breathes, staring as he lifts his jaw, stepping closer. “Thank you for saving me, Oliver. Twice, technically. I suppose it was three times. Or four, actually, if we count the fact that you let me, my mom and my dog live under your roof which probably scared that creep off from trying to kill me again if you really think about it—”

“Felicity,” Oliver interrupts, taking another step, leaving just a foot between them. He looks down his nose at her, his expression so intent and gorgeous. Depth and passion in his eyes that make her breath catch in her throat. Because she can’t remember anyone looking at her like this. Not ever.

His lips part slightly, but he doesn’t speak. He just looks at her in the darkened office, staring at her with all the emotion she’s feeling.

It’s finally over. Everyone is safe. The sword hanging above their heads has been carefully lowered and locked away. There’s no more danger or threats against her life.

As her body feels the extra wave of relief, her lips pull into a smile.

It catches Oliver’s attention, his eyes flickering down to her lips. A tiny, unexpected giggle escapes her. Instead of allowing herself to become overwhelmed or anxious, she laughs again.

His eyes fly back up to hers. And unknowingly, he leans closer, his expression lightening as she giggles.

Oliver licks his lips, fighting a smile of his own, and then he lets out a breathy laugh and shakes his head fondly while she clasps a hand over her mouth. And then he moves slowly, vigilant not to catch her off guard.

So she sees his hand reaching for her, and her laughter dies down as he traces the curve of her dimple, his fingers soft.

Their eyes meet, and Felicity isn’t sure what she sees behind his gaze that makes her suddenly want to kiss him more than she has wanted to kiss anyone before.

Nestling into his warm palm, she closes the last step between them. Her chest presses against his, her hand wrapping around his wrist, anchoring his hand to remain on her cheek. Not that it’s necessary, because as soon as she tilts her chin up for him, Oliver takes her face between each of his hands.

“You’ve been through so much,” Oliver mutters, his thumbs grazing her cheeks. “And even though you’re the strongest woman I’ve met, I wouldn’t blame you if you got caught up and confused in all of this, or if you just felt safe with me but don’t have feelings for me, or even if you just need time to think and process and—”

“Oliver,” she interrupts, her eyebrows furrowing as she shakes her head. “Can you please stop talking crazy and kiss me?”

He huffs, a smile spreading across his face. She returns it, leaning up onto her toes.

Meeting her halfway, Oliver presses his lips to hers.

Chaste, sweet, and almost pure.

He doesn’t unleash the toe-curling, mind-blowing, heart-racing kind of passion she’s certain he’s capable of. But it’s there, and she knows they both feel it as he gently pulls her bottom lip between his, a satisfied hum in his throat. It's a kiss to seal the closure on her worst nightmare, but also to open a fresh start on something with him that she expects to be incredible. There's a hint of peace on his lips. Happiness and the good kind of uncertainty. A natural connection.

There’s a promise of so much more, just beneath the surface.


	9. Epilogue

The clock ticking on the wall above Felicity’s head is going to be the death of her.

It’s the fourth time she’s sat on this couch in the last two weeks since the Dollmaker was sent to Slabside, but Felicity feels just as anxious as she had the first time.

Unfortunately, her therapist doesn’t seem to notice it. Or maybe she does, and she’s simply pretending not to. The woman stares at Felicity, waiting for her to speak. But she has nothing to say. 

This is their routine. Minimal conversation and plenty of staring. Questions that go unanswered. And that damn ticking clock.

When the hour is over, Felicity stands up, just as she has every week, and heads for the door. “You know,” Dr. Haynes stops her, “we can sit here week after week if that’s what you need, Ms. Smoak. But if you really want to get better and move on with your life, then it’s my advice that talking would help. I know if feels like a raging storm, and I know you’re trying to hold it back with just your hand on the door, but grief has a way of slipping through the cracks.”

Pausing as she slings her purse over her shoulder, Felicity glances up at the therapist, “it’s not a storm, Dr. Haynes,” she says lowly. “It’s hell. And hell belongs in the ground. It deserves to be buried, and alone, and forgotten.” Felicity shakes her head at the woman, “I didn’t deserve that, though. Yet it’s what happened to me. So, I appreciate your patience here, and the fact that you don’t push me...but I don’t exactly want to relive it. Or talk about it.”

The therapist smiles, giving Felicity a kind, assuring nod. “Forgetting and repressing are not the same things, I’m afraid.”

“Right,” she mumbles back, turning to the door. “Thank you, Dr. Haynes. I hope you have a nice weekend.”

The woman waves, standing up from her chair and turning off the tape-recorder that was useless unless Felicity’s hatred of the rain lately could provide some kind of insight to her mental health. Since that was the most emotion the therapist could get out of her. “Same time next Tuesday?” She asks, and Felicity nods. “Have a good weekend, Felicity. See you then.”

As Felicity closes the door behind her, she does feel badly. The doctor has been nothing but patient and polite. She also knows that she won’t be cleared for more important work in her new job until Dr. Haynes sees fit. Which surely won’t be happening if Felicity keeps wasting her hour every Tuesday and Thursday; staring at the clock, picking at her nail polish, and avoiding questions.

She sighs, turning the corner of the FBI hallway that just two weeks ago felt so heavy and depressing, but each day feels a little warmer than the one before. 

Keeping her eyes on her feet has always been her default. She’d done it since she was a kid, but she has to admit, it’s a little worse since the Dollmaker. At least before, she wasn’t so oblivious that she walked straight into people. 

“Oh my god,” Felicity gasps, colliding with a hard chest. “I’m so sorry.”

“Felicity,” a warm voice greets her. A familiar one. One of the only voices in her life lately that makes her sigh in relief rather than tense up.

“Roy,” she smiles, “sorry, wasn’t watching where I was going.”

“No worries,” he shrugs, letting go of her now that she’s steady on her feet. “I hear you’ve been working pretty well with Curtis Holt,” he grins. “That’s quite an accomplishment. I love the guy, but he can be a lot to handle.”

She raises her eyebrows, letting out a soft chuckle, “I can agree with that.” Felicity makes a face, “we do work well together though...I just wouldn’t mind getting out there a little more. Helping the team with cases, you know? Staring at security codes kind of makes me want to gouge my eyes out.”

Roy nods along, lifting his injured arm, stuck in a sling while he heals from the knife wound he’d taken in her defense. “Trust me, I know how you feel. I’ve just finished my first week of desk duty. Seven more to go.”

Felicity winces, “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” he shrugs it off easily. “When do you get to start training on the fun stuff?”

Rolling her eyes, Felicity releases a deep breath. “Not until the shrink clears me,” she grumbles.

Roy laughs, “why do I have a feeling you make Dr. Haynes’ job a lot harder?”

Felicity laughs too, nudging him. “I guess you’re a decent detective after all.”

“When I’m not bleeding out on porches of safehouses...yeah. Queen tells me I’m one of the best.” His voice and the way he lifts his jaw shows how proud he is. As he should be, heroically saving her life and all that. But Felicity also has a feeling that  _ Oliver  _ deeming Roy a good agent means a lot to him, too.

“You are,” she smiles, “hey, maybe by the time they let you back in the field, I’ll be able to be your backup on the comms.”

He groans, shaking his head. “You have no idea how much I’m waiting until that day. I’m actually sort of hoping that I can annoy John into clearing me sooner.”

“Good luck with that,” she scoffs. John Diggle had been rehired by the FBI after the Dollmaker was finally put behind bars. And his return to the bureau included supervising her and Curtis Holt. She’d learned rather quickly that John appreciates rules. Which means he takes those things very seriously.

Her phone begins to ring, and she waves goodbye to Roy as she fishes for it in her purse, walking to the parking garage.

Donna had developed a habit of calling her at the same time every day since everything happened. Considering it’d only been the last couple of weeks, Felicity still felt happy to answer the phone. But she knows the routine will become exhausting sooner rather than later.

“Hi, mom,” she greets Donna, barely finding her phone in time.

“Honey!” Donna squeals, “why didn’t you tell me!? What are you going to wear!? Have you gotten your roots touched up recently?”

“Mom?”

“Oh baby, you really should’ve made an appointment with Audrey this week to get your hair done. What time is the date tomorrow?”

“Mom.”

Maybe I can at least swing by and give you a nice pedicure after work. Have you picked your shoes? Are they open-toed? What color is the dress?”

“Mom!”

Donna stops, and Felicity reaches her car, climbing in. She slumps into her seat, hesitating for a moment to close her eyes and catch her breath. “I don’t need you to come over,” because  _ that  _ will only make her more nervous than she already is. “Thank you for the offer though.”

Felicity starts her car, knowing that the sound is usually a good way to get out of a conversation with her mother. “Okay, okay,” Donna sighs, “don’t drive and talk,” she advises, just as she always does.

Shaking her head, Felicity gets ready to leave. “Alright, I have to get home, I’ll talk to you later.”

“Love you, honey. Tell Oliver I said hello.”

She rolls her eyes, because Donna is just as proud and loving towards Oliver as she is towards her own daughter. “Love you too, mo—wait. How did you know Oliver and I had a date?” She specifically didn’t mention it. For this exact reason.

“Oh,” Donna squeaks. “I just—heard about it from—you know,” the woman huffs, giving up. “Oliver told me.”

“He did, huh?” Felicity’s eyes narrow at her windshield.

“Honey, don’t be mad at him. He called because he wanted to know what kind of flowers you liked and when I asked why, he told me. See, he thought that  _ someone  _ would’ve already mentioned it to her mother.”

“I was going to tell you...after,” Felicity groans. “If it goes well.”

Donna snorts, “of course it’s going to go well.” Felicity can picture the eye roll that accompanies those words. “Just don’t...don’t sabotage yourself with this one, Felicity. We both know how good you and Oliver could be for each other. Give it a real chance.”

“Okay, mom,” Felicity bites her lip. “Thank you for the vote of confidence. I really need to get going. Talk later.”

“ _I_ _just mean_ ,” Donna stresses. “You’ve been saving yourself, and me, ever since your dad left, baby. All I’m saying is that _it’s okay_. It’s okay to be tired and it’s okay not to be strong all the time. You’re not weak if you let other people save you, too.”

“You mean Oliver?”

“Yeah…I mean Oliver. Let him in.”

* * *

When she was thirteen, Felicity had been asked out by Robbie Rickards. He was considered the coolest boy in their eighth grade class, since he was better than most of the students on his soccer team. He also had warm hazel eyes, a kind smile, and a brain that matched her own.

The relationship lasted a whole three days before she received a note from his best friend David, informing her of her own breakup. Her mother had soothed her broken heart with ice cream and plenty of jabs at poor Robbie, criticizing the adolescent for not even writing the note himself and enlisting his buddy to deliver it instead.

Yet for those three days, she’d been up with the sun. She’d been excited to go to school each morning, knowing that Robbie might try to hold her hand at her locker. That he would sit next to her at lunch and put his arm around her. For that short-lived romance, she would wake up smiling.

Since her heartbreaking dumping, she hadn’t quite found that innocent giddiness in anyone she dated after Robbie. It was probably just something about him being her  _ first  _ boyfriend.

But as Felicity opens her eyes on the day of her first date with Oliver Queen, well before her alarm’s rude sounds, she’s smiling.

Date day is a reason to smile. As far as reasons to smile go, Felicity takes them with stride. She rolls over in her bed, stretching and immediately grabbing her phone, wanting to silence the screeching alarm before it can pierce her first good mood in a while. 

The first thing she sees is a simple yet sweet text from Oliver Queen himself:  _ Good morning, Felicity.  _ Which is followed shortly with an even sweeter:  _ Would it be completely uncool for me to say how excited I am for tonight? _

She grins, rolling onto her stomach:  _ No, not uncool at all. I can’t wait. _

_ Me either _ , he replies quickly. As always.  _ What about if I told you how beautiful you definitely look right now? _

Snorting now, Felicity types back:  _ You can’t even see me...you cheeseball. _

She bites her lip, watching the little dots until his response comes, already expecting the butterflies he tends to send her along with his messages: _ Don’t need to. With that messy bed hair of yours, once is enough to keep a man from forgetting that sight. _

_ Careful, Queen. _ Felicity chides, pairing it with one of those cute eye roll emojis.

_ I meant to say that  _ gorgeous  _ sight, of course,  _ he texts back.

The last two weeks had consisted of mostly texting between the two of them. Aside from a few coffee runs or getting lunch together here and there, she hasn’t seen very much of Oliver since the kiss.

The.  _ Kiss _ .

A very good kiss. The kind that would inevitably get better the more he kissed her, she has no doubt. But he is also giving her the space she needs. 

Felicity sighs as she gets ready for work, remembering the casual way Oliver had stopped her in the hallway last week, placed his hand on her shoulder, and let her know that he was happy to leave the ball in her court.  _ “I wasn’t sure if I should say something, the last thing I want is for you to feel pressured. But I also don’t want you to think that I’ve forgotten,” _ he’d told her lowly. _ “So, you give me the day, and I’ll be there, Felicity.” _

Then two days ago, Curtis had been in the middle of a story, describing the kitchen nightmare that was him trying to make a birthday cake for his husband, and Felicity had laughed. 

It was a real, heartfelt, yet sadly foreign laugh. 

By the look on Curtis’ face, it had also been noticeable. Foreign to him, too. Probably the first time her new coworker had ever heard her laugh. But he’d simply smiled and continued his story. She couldn’t help thinking for the rest of the day, how long it’d been since she’d truly laughed. Since she’d truly been happy. Which led to a day full of thinking about the things that made her happy. The things she wanted to do. And it was easy to picture Oliver having a part in a lot of those ideas.

At the end of the day, she’d packed up her bag and stopped by Oliver’s office. _ “How does Friday work for you?” _

Leaning back in his chair, Oliver had smiled brightly at her, knowing just what she meant. _ “Friday sounds perfect,” _ he’d answered.

Once she’s showered and ready, Felicity hurries to work. She’d spent a bit of extra time in the shower, which made her run late. At her old job, she would’ve shrugged it off, but now she rushes, bypassing her favorite coffee shop so she can make it in on time. 

Like usual, the elevator is crowded; full of straight-faced, big-muscled agents, which is finally starting to  _ not  _ be insanely intimidating. Usually it makes her anxiety skyrocket, to the point where she seriously considers taking the stairs almost every morning. If thirty flights in high heels wouldn’t kill her, she might have the best calves in the FBI.

When Felicity sees Oliver in the back of the elevator, she’s not as antsy about the cramped space for once. She bites her lip, nudging her way inside until she’s standing in front of him.

The doors close, and she glances over her shoulder at Oliver, feeling how close he is. Less than a foot behind, Oliver looks down his nose at her, meeting her eyes. And Felicity quickly turns around, her skin flushing as she fights the instinct to take one more step back to press herself against him.

She swears she can feel his eyes on the back of her head, his fingers itching to reach out and touch her, his breath ghosting over the back of her neck. Damn the FBI agents and their perceptiveness, because an elevator full of watchful eyes is not the best place for her shallow breaths and racing heart.

As they climb higher through the building and their company gets off at various floors, Felicity stays put, too afraid to move away but not wanting to step closer, either. At one point, she swears she feels Oliver’s finger graze her spine, just a slight, experimental touch, and she clamps her lips shut, tightening her grip on her purse, not daring to turn around.

Finally, after long minutes of the-best-yet-worst-elevator-ride-ever, they reach her floor. And she’s fairly certain that the remaining agents are picking up on the sexual tension in the air, but they wisely choose to ignore it. Oliver clears his throat as Felicity steps through the doors, and she glances back at him.

He winks, and she blushes, catching it just in time before the doors close. Shaking her head, Felicity fights a smile the whole way to her desk.

She pauses when she sees the small cup with a black lid waiting beside her keyboard. She picks it up, reading the panda shaped sticky note her coffee-bringer had used to write:  _ Good morning, Felicity. Again. I’m still very excited for tonight. _ She blushes even more, recognizing Oliver’s handwriting. With a content sigh, Felicity glances at the order written on the side of her cup. 

Maple latte. Her favorite. 

And the only one who knows how much she loves them from the coffee shop two blocks away, is Oliver. They’d gone there a few times in the last couple of weeks, both in the morning and on her lunch break. She always ordered a maple latte.

Smiling, Felicity snaps a photo of the coffee and accompanied note.  _ Now how did this get here? _ She texts him, including the picture for evidence.

_ Hmm, coffee fairy?  _ He replies as she plops down in her chair.

_ Cute. _

Felicity rolls her eyes, picking up the warm drink between her hands. 

This. Man.  _ Ugh _ .

If she thought saving her life repeatedly was the maximum Oliver could do to make her feel special... boy had she been wrong. He truly is the most attentive, caring, and passionate person she’d ever met. Getting to know him only makes her like him more. Every conversation leaves her wanting more. 

Thankfully, her morning goes relatively smooth, always slightly less stressful when she doesn’t have to dread a session with Dr. Haynes. Plus her coffee is perfect. Definitely more satisfying because she knows it came from Oliver. And things only get better when Curtis offers to pick up lunch from her favorite sushi place.

The date is at the front of her mind all day long. 

With Oliver, she somehow feels stronger than she ever has; in spite of, or probably  _ because  _ of, what she went through. Something about him just boosts her confidence. His presence is a breath of relief. One that she appreciates more than he knows. 

Yet the idea of a first date makes her want to down a bottle of wine. Not to mention the fact that as soon as she has a moment to breathe, Donna’s nagging questions circle her mind. She has no idea what to wear. Her roots could surely use a touch up and yes, her nails are chipped because she can’t stop biting them.

Pulling her lips to the side, Felicity sits down at her desk while she waits for Curtis to come back. After a moment’s contemplation, she picks up her phone, deciding there’s no harm in being straightforward with the man who has already seen her at her worst.  _ I’m nervous,  _ she texts.

Her stress builds as she stares at her screen, seeing that he reads the message almost immediately, but then twenty minutes go by without a response. 

They’re working. He’s busy all day with meetings and cases that she can’t wait to be a part of. The security system tests she’s been tasked with for now are impossible to focus on today.

Just as Felicity begins biting her nails again, her phone begins to ring, Oliver’s name coming up on the screen.

Felicity picks it up immediately. “Hi,” she sighs, slumping into her chair with a smile.

“Nervous?” He says slowly, curiously, and she can hear the smile in his voice, too.

She laughs, “are you saying you’re not?”

“Not really.”

“All right, cool guy. Well, some of us are not so cocky.”

“Mm,” Oliver hums, “what are you nervous about?”

As soon as he asks, Felicity’s mind goes blank. All of her concerns seem silly, just his voice reminds her how strong their connection is and how real it already feels between them.

“Felicity,” he breathes her name like he’s been doing it half his life. “Talk to me.”

“What do I wear?” She blurts.

Oliver pauses for a moment, and then he lets out a soft chuckle. “Whatever you’d like.”

Felicity groans, “I hate that answer. I can’t show up to a five star restaurant in jeans. Not that you’re taking me to one of those or that you’d  _ ever  _ have to do something like that! I just mean, a little more guidance in the wardrobe department?”

“Comfortable,” he says, the biggest grin in his voice. “No five star restaurants. Not that I’d  _ never  _ do something like that. Just not tonight.”

“Okay,” she sighs, already relaxing. “Any other clues you could give me? I’m only freaking out a little bit over here.”

“Hmmm,” he ponders, “It’ll be lowkey...but I think you’ll really like it. At least I hope you will.”

A wide smile spreads across her face, “I’m sure I will.”

Knowing that there are no swanky restaurants involved, for tonight at least, does help to calm down her nerves.

Still, she wasn’t expecting the night she gets.

* * *

As Oliver pulls into the parking lot of Big Belly Burger, Felicity eyes him suspiciously. And he smiles, giving her a tiny shrug. Setting the sunflowers he’d bought her aside, Felicity gets out of the car and lets him take her hand, leading them inside with his fingers twisted through hers. She’s confused when he picks up takeout, and they’re out the door again moments later.

“What are we doing?” Felicity finally asks, taking the brown paper bag from him and keeping it safely on her lap while he drives down the street, heading downtown. “I mean, this smells delicious. And you know I am pretty much always down for Big Belly Burger…” She bites her lip, not wanting to sound mean by finishing her sentence;  _ ‘but this is kind of the last thing I was expecting.’ _

Glancing over at her, he gives her a look, and she smiles apologetically, knowing that he understands her meaning anyway. “Trust me,” he whispers lowly, pulling her hand up to his mouth and kissing her fingers. “I didn’t wait this long for a date just to have you eat fast food in my car.”

Felicity blushes, watching as he shifts his eyes to the road, but turns her hand over, pressing another gentle kiss against the back of it. 

“Burgers in your car doesn’t sound so bad,” he mumbles back, sharing a quick glance. Oliver scrunches up his nose, playfully nipping at her hand, and she grins. “So long as you pick a good place to park…”

His eyes dart back to her, his eyebrows shooting up, drawing a low chuckle from her lips.

Shaking his head, Oliver sighs. 

The next surprise comes when she realizes that Oliver is pulling into the driveway of a very familiar place. “Work?” She asks, trying not to make a face. “You brought me...to work?”

“Mm-hm,” Oliver purses his lips, getting out of the car and walking into the building beside her. She doesn’t ask what’s going on, and he doesn’t offer any explanations either.

When the elevator door opens, Oliver tugs on her hand, leading her down the halls she knows by heart now. He opens the door to his office and switches on the light. Without a word, he sits down at his desk and opens the top drawer, looking for something.

Hesitating in the doorway, Felicity fidgets, afraid to ask what he’s doing and whether or not she should be pulling up a chair. He glances up at her, holding up a lighter he’d fished from his drawer. “Okay…” she says, her eyebrows furrowing. “We came here because you forgot your lighter? Is that really…um. Now what?”

Oliver smiles again, looking a little too amused and a little too smug considering how strange he’s being. She doesn’t want to say she’s disappointed. She feels bad even thinking it. But Big Belly Burger takeout and stopping at the FBI for an errand? It seems a tad bit less than  _ lowkey _ . Maybe  _ too  _ lowkey...

“Come on,” Oliver says, dropping the lighter into his pocket and taking her hand again. “I have one more thing I need to do here, then we can go eat.” He leaves his office, locking it behind him, and Felicity tries not to sigh.

Looking down at her feet, she trails behind him, grateful that at least his thumb is drawing a familiar, calming pattern she loves against her wrist. 

Oliver could take her to a basement full of rats and she’d be okay as long as he kept tracing his finger on her skin like this. Because god, did it feel good. Shark-infested waters. A landfill. The sewer. Some kind of haunted town where no one tells you about the ghosts until it’s way too late. 

Felicity is pretty sure she could get through anything if she had Oliver by her side. Rubbing his thumb in that slow, calming circle.

Lost in her own thoughts, she doesn’t realize that Oliver’s led her up to the roof until he’s pushing the door open and a rush of cool air hits their faces. 

Felicity stares at the view, never noticing how tall the federal building really is. Almost the whole city is in sight. And her first thought is how drastically different it looks from her nightmares. 

Those tend to involve darkness, claustrophobia, and the poignant smell of wet dirt. A box buried underneath the ground that confines her, closes in on her until her lungs have nothing left.

But up here, with a whole city in view and clean air on her cheeks...Felicity feels free. 

The fact that Oliver had known this is something she needs to feel, before she’d even considered it, makes her breath catch in her throat. Blinking back tears, even if they’re ones of relief, Felicity looks away from the city and meets the eyes of the man standing next to her. A look passes between them. 

Of understanding. Of acceptance. And if she’s not mistaken, definitely of falling in love.

His eyes search hers for a brief moment, taking in everything he knows she wants to say. When she’s ready. 

Without a word, Oliver steps back, moving away and plugging in a set of lights he’d obviously set up earlier.

Felicity notices the blankets he’d also apparently laid out. Pillows and wine included. “I shouldn’t have doubted you,” she breathes, stepping towards the set up.

Oliver chuckles, following after her. “You doubted me?”

Making a face, Felicity shakes her head innocently, slowly taking off her shoes and sitting down. She pulls one of the blankets into her lap as Oliver watches her get settled. Then he nods, seemingly satisfied that she’s situated, and lowers himself to sit beside her.

“I just wanted to show you that despite how we met...we can still be normal.”

“This is what you call normal?” She scoffs, teasingly bumping her shoulder against his.

Pulling out their food, he raises an eyebrow. “Better than a swanky restaurant, though?”

“Absolutely,” she grins. “You know,” Felicity tilts her head towards him, “normalcy will be incredibly appreciated after everything we’ve been through so far. But I have to admit...I’m a little afraid that  _ normal  _ will be the problem.” 

She bites her lip, “what are you supposed to talk about on a first date with a guy who has already seen you at your worst, held you through a panic attack or two, cleaned up your dog’s messes, met your mother, and cut a tracking device out of your shoulder? Oh, and saved your life twice?”

Letting out a breathy laugh, Oliver shrugs. “The normal things? The funny thing with you and me, Felicity...is that I think it’s safe to say the worst is already behind us. You’re the strongest woman I’ve ever met, and I don’t have a doubt in my mind that we could get through anything together. So, to be honest, I’m not all that worried about it. We can only move forward from here.”

She smiles, releasing a breath that feels so much like relief. The freedom and confidence in her bones that he’s bringing her with this rooftop date. “You make things seem so simple,” Felicity whispers.

“Don’t get me wrong, I’m not trying to downplay anything,” he explains, and she shakes her head, knowing that he isn’t. “And I’m not saying it won’t be hard. All I’m saying is that I’m...very, very willing to give this a try. I know that certain things will probably be complicated, both of us working for the FBI, for example. But some things are simple. I want to be with you.”

“I just don’t want to mess anything up,” she admits, earning herself a soft smile from the man beside her.

“We won’t.”

“How can you know?”

“One thing I learned from John Diggle is that I should never bring my work home with me. I watched that man drive himself crazy trying to solve a case. And I always swore that I’d never let myself get invested like that.”

Her eyebrows furrow, watching him curiously as he continues. “I worked for nine years without ever having a problem. Sure, some cases were hard, heartbreaking, and kept me up at night. But then I met you—”

“And you quite literally took a case home with you,” she interrupts.

“Yes,” Oliver chuckles softly. “I knew from the beginning that it was different with you, Felicity. You...you changed everything. I fell for you, and I know I had no right to, but it happened.”

Looking back at him, she can see the honesty in his crystal blue, captivating eyes. “I fell for you, too,” Felicity whispers back.

He leans in slowly, his hand coming up to twist in her hair, his thumb grazing her ear. And Oliver smiles as his nose nose brushes against Felicity’s, giving his head a single nod of acceptance before he kisses her.

It’s the best first date either of them have ever had. Complete with good food, meaningful conversations, and plenty of kissing. Felicity is almost ready to suggest they stay until sunrise, if not for a very needy dog at her apartment who she knows would worry sick about her if she didn’t come home.

Oliver seems to read her mind. 

After a few hours of bliss, he asks if she’s ready to head home. And while the answer feels like it should be ‘yes’ but wants to be ‘no’, she simply sighs, groaning as he helps her to her feet. They clean everything up and leave the building the same way they’d come, hand in hand. Although this time, her nerves are nearly nonexistent, and she knows she’ll never look at the boring FBI building the same. 

Every morning when she pulls into that parking lot, she has a feeling her eyes will wander up towards the roof, leaving her with plenty of happy memories to survive those dreadful elevator rides.

Just as they’re getting back to the car, Oliver’s phone chimes with a text. He closes the passenger door, and Felicity keeps her eyes on him while he rounds the front of the car. She watches, buckling herself in, her eyes on Oliver’s face, and she tries to read his always-careful expressions as he reads the text. 

He’s an agent who has clearly mastered the art of non-reactions. Interrogation rooms are his bitches. But she’s slowly getting better at seeing those tiny responses when his lip twitches with humor. Or his eyes grow dark with lust. She likes that one, usually because she’s noticed that it happens when she chooses to wear a skirt to work, his lingering gaze on her legs. 

Now though, Oliver’s eyebrows push together, his lips forming a hard line.

It might still be new between them. But she knows that face, too.

By the time he climbs into the car, his phone is back in his pocket, and he’s working on controlling his facial expressions. “What’s wrong?” She asks.

“That was John,” Oliver replies as he starts the car. To his credit, he doesn’t bother brushing it off. Even though she knows that whatever John has to say would probably be date-ruining material. Oliver knows better than to keep things from her. Besides, the roof was still theirs. A place that is now just for them, where good things outweigh the bad. “He’s ready to talk.”

Felicity sits silently for a moment, freezing in her seat. She knows that Oliver means the Dollmaker. And he waits for her to ask, or maybe he’s waiting until she takes a breath, before he tells her any more. She takes a couple of minutes to let the words settle, to turn her brain back to the bad things. “He’ll give you the names of his other victims?” Felicity questions as Oliver drives.

He keeps one hand on the wheel. The other moves to her leg, his warm fingers squeezing her thigh in comfort. And his eyes bounce between the road and her face. “Yes,” Oliver mumbles. “They want me to go to Slabside tomorrow.”

Letting out a deep breath, Felicity nods, covering his hand with hers, knotting their fingers together. “Okay,” she finally sighs.

They each stay quiet, sitting in a comfortable, but not entirely welcome silence. Felicity breaks it only once Oliver reaches her neighborhood. “Let’s let tomorrow’s problems wait until tomorrow then.”

Oliver glances over at her, but waits until he’s parked in front of her apartment before he speaks. “You’re sure? Felicity, I want you to know that you can talk to me...I’ll always listen.”

“I know,” she whispers quietly, giving him a faint smile. “If anyone understands what I went through, it’s you, Oliver. You were there for all of it. I just—I don’t want to talk about it yet. Especially not tonight.”

Keeping his eyes on her for a moment, Oliver nods, believing her and trusting that she’ll talk when she’s ready. 

And not just to Ophie. Even though her dog is an amazing listener, she knows she needs to open up to someone who can respond with a little more than the sympathetic looks she gets from her dog. 

Whether it be Oliver, or her mother, or Dr. Haynes, she’ll get there. And she’s just glad that she has some incredibly patient people in her life.

Reaching for her, Oliver gently pulls her into a hug, wrapping himself around her like the protective force he’s been ever since she stumbled into his arms that day he found her in the Holland Forest. 

“Oliver?” She mumbles against his neck, suddenly feeling like what she needs, and wants, is to hold onto that little bubble of safety he gives her. “Do you want to come in?”

He nods, his breath shallow. “Okay.”

Pulling back to look at him, she offers a small smile, one that he returns immediately. And Felicity knows she won’t regret it. In fact, not only is she certain that she wants him to stay for the night, but she’s pretty sure she wouldn’t mind if he stayed for good.


End file.
